The Little Mer-Nate, a my candy love fanfic

Author's Note: Well...Uh...Yeah. This was almost for Nathaniel's birthday, but now it's waaay too belated because I am a busy, distracted, lazy, worthless piece of shit. And because it got long. Like really long, what the fuck happened? Oh well. Anyway, here's this. It's weird, but it was almost weirder. It was almost in space, with chest-burster aliens and wormholes. But then I finished 999, so I had sinking ships on the brain and now it's this weird, plotless, tepid, disjointed, dull, mediocre, pathetic, distorted, crappy rehashing of everyone's favorite overrated Andersen tale.

OC cameos. References to Germanic lore. References to Greek lore. References to other craps. Slash, of course. Slashity slash slash.

Nathaniel swims to the surface and presses close to his rock, waiting. It's almost time. The scarlet rays of the dying sun glimmer on the ocean's surface and the colors of the sky begin to drain, a few speckles of stars impatient to come out only just faintly shining to those who know where to look.

He knows where to look.

After coming here every day from age fifteen and onward, he knows where to spot everything. Including the prince. Said prince appears on the shore as he does every night, moving toward the shallows with a graceful stride. He takes his shoes off and wades, and Nathaniel can see him smile even from the vast distance that separates them.

"He'd probably be creeped out if he knew you were staring at him."

Nathaniel starts with a gasp and whips his head around. "You're one to talk, sneaking up on me." He lifts his fin and smacks the surface, splashing Armin in the face.

Armin holds his webbed hands up in defense. "It's not my fault you were too caught up in mooning over that human to notice me. Actually, I'm surprised you're still doing this. Hasn't it gotten boring by now?"

"No." And with that, Nathaniel turns back to the prince and hopes Armin will take the hint and go away.

"But you're not really even getting that good of a view." No such luck.

"It's better now than during the day." He can't risk getting getting spotted, so he usually doesn't spy on the land during the day at all, but sometimes he'll poke his head up. A couple times he's seen the prince on his balcony, holding something rectangular.

Armin hums and idly swims around the rock, sapphire scales glinting in the glaze of dwindling daylight. "Do you ever wonder what humans do up there?"

Nathaniel watches the prince walk out of the water and roll his pants down before he steps back into his shoes.

"All the time," he murmurs wistfully.

Nathaniel is contentedly chewing on a freshly killed tuna on his bed of seagrass when his sister interrupts.

"There you are!" she exclaims. "Hurry up, there's a ship sinking and it's loaded! Mom already got a medallion and a netful of fish!"

Nathaniel lowers the tuna, his appetite vanishing. He's never been keen on taking advantage of humans' misfortunes. But he knows he's going to be be in trouble if he doesn't help reap the goods, so he follows Amber as she surges to the surface.

White lightning crackles across shadow dark clouds, threats rumbling in thunder as rain barrages a chaotic sea. The raging gale slaps his face and the terrified screams of humans roar in his ears even louder than the thunder. Amber's right, the capsizing ship is huge. It's one of the biggest one's Nathaniel's ever seen and half of it's already been swallowed up by the turbulent black waves.

He dips back down and dives toward the submerged stern, swiftly evading useless debris. He scans for signs of something of value, the glint of jewels or the bulky shapes of barrels or chests.

None of those, but what's that by the mast?

Nathaniel squints and his heart jolts as he realizes that's not a what, that's a who.

The very prince he so ardently admires from a distance descends to certain demise as gracefully as a discarded seashell, a slow, dainty drop. Panic seizes Nathaniel, vehement, driving.

He rushes down and hauls the prince up under the arms, quickly propelling toward flashing skies.

"Don't be dead," he begs shakily, awkwardly maneuvering backward to make sure the prince's head stays above water. "Please don't be dead."

The thunder goes on rumbling, and the wind is howling louder than ever, rain relentlessly pouring, so Nathaniel can't be sure if the feeble cough he gets in response is real or his own wishful thinking.

Roiling waves toss him in all directions. The wind is fierce enough to steal his breath and the weight of the human and the awkward angle complicate the task even further. His tail is sore and the rain stings his eyes, but he thinks he can make out the shore.

He powers toward it as fast as he can and then in all the pandemonium, he's in water almost too shallow to swim in and a cresting wave crashes down, sending Nathaniel flying right to the sand and almost tearing the prince from his grasp.

He lands heavily on his back, blood washing through his mouth as his teeth catch onto his tongue. He pulls himself up and rolls the prince onto the sand, peering at him apprehensively.

Is he dead? To Nathaniel's great distress, he looks pretty dead. He's limp, flesh as white as bone and eyes sealed shut. But wait...His chest is moving, softly rising and falling. Slowly, daring to hope, Nathaniel inclines his head to it.

The heartbeat he hears is undeniable; firm, steady, there.

Nathaniel goes lax with relief and keeps his head to the prince's chest for an indeterminable amount of time just to reassure himself it won't grow faint and fade away.

"Mm...?" The prince begins to stir, gives a little cough and makes another confused noise.

Nathaniel freezes. It's time to get out of here. He rolls away and rapidly scoots to the water. As soon as it's deep enough, he dips under and doesn't look back.

But he wants to.

Every instinct Nathaniel possesses screams at him to get as far away from the jagged cave as he possibly can.

He does not heed them.

He swims inside with no hesitation and does not pause to look at the walls of skeletal remains and shiny shards and statues that were probably once alive. If he looks at the walls he may hesitate and he doesn't want to give himself the chance to slip. He focuses on throb of bruises earned when he returned home empty-handed, thinks about the beautifully enigmatic prince and all the wonder his world must have to unwrap.

"Well, isn't this a surprise," the witch purrs from her throne of coral and bone, hand in the azure hair of the current lover sprawled across her sleek, cobalt tentacles. "It's been awhile, Nath."

"Debrah." He nods stiffly.

"So what do you want?" She twirls her finger.

"To be human," he says simply and he feels more sure than ever.

"Oooh." Her eyes flash and her lips curve into a poison grin. "How come?"

"What does that part matter? Can you help me or not?"

"Marce." Debrah exchanges a glance with her lover and the next thing he knows, there's a blade pressed to his throat.

"Now," drawls Debrah, lazily stretching out her arms and tentacles. "Are you going to keep being snippy with me, Nath, or are you going to answer my question?"

"I just want to know what it's like up there," he murmurs. "That, and there's this human..."

"Ooh. See, now that wasn't so hard." The witch smirks and then waves a tentacle at Marcese. "Down, girl."

The blade is instantly removed from Nathaniel's neck and the mermaid gives him a brief, apologetic glance before retreating back to Debrah's side.

"I'll turn you into a human," she chirps agreeably. "But it's going to cost you and I don't do IOUs anymore. You remember what happened with Castiel?"

Nathaniel strains against the urge to shudder. "I'll give you what you want when you want it." He was never fond of Castiel, but no one deserved that fate.

"Good. Now, just what do I want from you?" She pushes off her throne and swims over, circling him and humming critically. Her fingers clench around his chin and she jerks his face so they're nose to nose. He swears he can see shipwrecks and plagues glowing in her gaze. "You have nice eyes. Maybe I want your eyes? Hm, no." She lets go again and continues circling and Nathaniel knows she's already decided what she wants from him.

She's just playing with him for the fun of it, teasing him because she knows she can.

"I know, I'll take your voice. It's nothing special, but it's kind of nice, kind of orotund, I'm sure I could use it for something. Do we have a deal?" She stops circling, looking so smug Nathaniel wants to say no just to spite her.

He lightly touches his throat, biting his lip. He can't talk to the prince if he gives up his voice. Not the prince, or any of the humans up there.

"Isn't there anything else?"

"Nope," trills the witch, sticking her tongue out at him. "You want legs, I get your voice. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Nathaniel straightens his back, determined to realize this dream. If his voice has to be fodder, so be it. "Fine."

"Splendid." She trails her fingertips up his throat, deadly nails catching softly. There is a brief flare of warmth, like he's swallowed a sunbeam. Those nails linger on his lips for just a moment, then she draws her hand away and the warmth goes away with it, a silvery, shimmery thread following.

He wants to ask what it is and knows when finds himself unable.

Debrah moves back and deftly digs through the shelves in the wall, retrieving a small bottle filled with a purplish liquid. "Drink up," she instructs as she passes it to him.

He downs it in one gulp and there is no particular taste. For a moment there is nothing, and then a fusillade of ebullition tears through Nathaniel's tail. He's overwhelmed, and then he feels his caudal fin divorce and when his nerves stabilize, he glances down and although he asked for this, it is bizarre to see that the scales are no more.

"There are a few things I should tell you," says Debrah. "First of all, that human you're doing this for? If you can't get them to marry you by the end of summer, you're going to turn into sea foam."

She giggles and stretches out her hand, admiring the back of her nails. "Next, understand that I had to alter nature for you. That's something that's hard even for someone as talented as me to pull off, so don't expect walking to feel nice. Last, don't get angry and waste your time glaring at me for not informing you about this before you drank the potion. You don't have time to do that because you don't have gills anymore and you need to get to the surface before you drown."

When Nathaniel pulls himself onto the shore, reeling and gasping for breath, he has time to be deluged by the information the witch left him with. Sea foam, something so plain and automatically ignored before, is now a daunting concept.

He is going to become sea foam if he doesn't get the prince to marry him, and naturally she waited until after he sealed the deal to drop this on him...Well, just how the hell is he supposed to do that when he can't even talk to him?!

Absence of solution floats over him, dismaying, but the sand beneath him is pleasantly hot and that will have to be enough motivation for now.

Nathaniel pulls himself up on his palms and it takes him a few minutes to work out what to do with his legs. Legs are strange, newfangled things. The way he's naturally inclined to move his lower body is useless here on land, and he needs to adapt. He gets to his knees and pauses before he stands, recalling the witch's words. Don't expect walking to feel nice.

Breathing in and bracing himself for discomfort, Nathaniel stands up for the very first time and is completely unprepared for the agony that shoots up his new limbs. From his toes to his hips, it feels like sea urchin spines piercing him through to the marrow. Shark bites and jellyfish stings pound them in even deeper as he totters forward, silently screaming so loud he can almost hear himself.

It's too much to bear. Darkness buries his sightline and he topples over in a dead faint.

The first thing Nathaniel sees upon waking up are mismatched eyes of sunrise's glint on gold and bird wrasses in turtle grass. He must be dreaming because they're set in a face framed by silken starlight, the face he's traded everything he knew life to be for, and with how his luck in this endeavor has been thus far, there is no way possible he'd end up in the prince's presence without fighting his way into it.

"Are you awake?" the most lovely voice proves him wrong.

Nathaniel blinks and sits up, taking in his surroundings. The walls are tall and decorated with elaborate, swirling pictures. The door is hinged by bronze and there is a bed beneath him, softer than anything he's ever touched, something downy of a similar material drawn over over his legs. He stares back into the eyes of the prince seated beside him, utterly mystified.

"You're in the palace," he explains softly. "I found you on the shore. You didn't have a stitch on you. Were you robbed?"

Nathaniel gets the gist of what he's being asked, but he can't exactly reply anyway and the prince is distracting. This is only the second time in his life that he's been this close, and the last time he was too busy saving his life to study him. He's even more beautiful than Nathaniel thought and his hair looks so soft. He reaches out to touch it and the prince lets out a startled noise as he bats his hand away.

"Ahh— What are you doing?" He looks flustered.

Nathaniel sulks for a moment and then points to his throat, shaking his head. He supposes now is as good a time as any to indicate that he can't speak.

"You're mute? But you do understand me, yes?"

Nathaniel nods.

"I see. I'll get you something to write with." The prince rises to his feet and strides out of the room, paisley-accented coattail trailing behind him. Nathaniel kind of wants to follow, but he's still processing all of this. How long has he been here, anyway? How long was he out?

"Here," says the prince upon returning, giving Nathaniel the square, white thing he thinks he's seen him hold on the balcony. He's then given a feather that's black at the tip and apparently he's supposed to do something with it. He curiously touches the black tip and is disgruntled when the blackness smears onto his skin. He wipes it off on the white square and cocks his head, pondering the cosmic possibilities of what he's meant to do with these things.

"Do you not know how to write?" the prince asks, one brow quirked up.

Evidently Nathaniel looks as clueless as he feels. He offers a sheepish smile and shakes his head.

"I see...Well this is going to be difficult."

So says the one not in danger of turning into sea foam. Perhaps he needs to rethink his life choices. His stomach growls as if agreeing.

"But that's not difficult to understand." The prince's lips twitch. He winds around the bed and walks through a pair of doors against a massive chest. He comes back out with clothes folded over his arms and sets them down on the bed. "Put those on and I'll show you to the table. Communication complications or not, I won't toss you out naked and hungry."

Nathaniel unfolds the clothes and blinks. They're less elaborate than what the prince is currently donning, which is a relief because he isn't even entirely sure how to put them on as they are, let alone having to deal with layers and buttons. Carefully, carefully he gets out of bed. He still isn't prepared for the pain that pillages his legs upon standing and he lets them buckle, slipping to the floor.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" The prince dives to his side.

There must be a thousand harpoons impaling his legs, but when Nathaniel glances down, they're both bloodless and bruise free. If he wants to walk, he's just going to have to get used to this. He waves dismissively at the prince's worried face and sucks in a deep breath as he gets back up. He gave up his tail and his voice for this, he won't let the pain beat him. He can't let the pain beat him.

He picks up the shirt by the shoulders and surveys it, beige and lightweight with no other distinguishing features. He sticks his arms through the sleeves and then swings them back, ducking his head and popping it through the collar like he's seen land turtles do. The hem falls down his torso by itself after he gives it a little tug. It feels very peculiar and undesirable, but he already tackled the hurdle of putting it on.

Now the trousers...This is more complicated. His legs already scream in protest as he stands, how is he supposed to wiggle around and get into these? And they look tight...He glares at the garment like he can intimidate it into giving him the answer.

"Would you like me to help you?" the prince asks after a few minutes pass. He's staring at Nathaniel, thoroughly bemused. "No offense, but you don't seem like you know what you're doing and you've already put your shirt on backwards."

Oh. Well that's embarrassing. Nathaniel feels his cheeks burn, but he nods.

"Alright." The prince makes his way over. He sits Nathaniel down on the bed, which is an unexpected relief, and then proceeds to help him get his legs in and pull them up, and tuck his backwards shirt in. Wearing them is as much the displeasure as he anticipated and he wrinkles his nose.

"Forgive me, but it's as though you've never dressed before." The prince's eyes flutter, and he looks equal parts amused and baffled. "I'm beginning to think you're not from around here."

Nathaniel chews his lip. He should've tried harder to give the witch something else, an arm, or a hand, or a glittery chunk of his parents' treasure horde. Alas, nothing he can do about that now. He takes the prince by the wrist and starts pulling him to the balcony. He gives Nathaniel a look of surprise, but he doesn't resist.

Nathaniel lets go of him and presses against the curved stone railing, pointing out toward the endless blue of the sea and peering at him solemnly.

"Um...The ocean? The water?"

Nathaniel taps his opposite finger to his own chest, nodding him along.

"...Hmm? Wha— Oh! Are you saying you come from the sea?"

Nathaniel nods and retracts his arm, smiling brightly.

"Well, what happened to your boat? Did you fall overboard?" The prince frowns.

Nathaniel pauses and nods again, deciding to go with this. It's not like he can explain that he was a merman.

The prince shudders, face softening in sympathy. "That must've been terrifying. I almost drowned myself, not three days ago. Perhaps the same person who saved me saved you."

Something a bit like pride, but less strident and much warmer, unfurls and spreads in Nathaniel's chest. He feels a smile stretch from ear to ear and holds his hands up in a 'who knows' gesture.

The prince returns his smile, and it shines so prettily that Nathaniel just wants to touch that too. He reaches out and manages to graze the prince's lips with his fingertips before he takes his hand and lowers it away.

"Respecting personal space must not be encouraged where you come from, hm?" he tuts, seemingly amused more than reproachful. "I'm going to call you Nix. I have to call you something, and I can't think of anything more appropriate for a mysterious stranger who comes from the sea. Unless you object?"

He doesn't object at all. This is actually a very welcome development, because if the prince is naming him it has to mean some sort of attachment. Actually speaking of names...

Nathaniel points to the prince and tips his head quizzically.

The prince opens his mouth and then closes it again, understanding dawning upon his features. "Forgive me, as royalty, I don't usually have to introduce myself." He spares a sheepish smile. "My name is Lysander."

Lysander. It suits him. It's pretty like he is. He wants to repeat it, feel the way it rolls off his tongue, but of course, that's impossible. He simply smiles instead. And with that Lysander leads him into the corridor. It's even larger than Nathaniel thought it would be, at least twenty meters long and his legs howl in protest. More paintings line the walls in fancy frames, depicting extravagant people and green places.

"Who is that?" demands a sharp voice and Nathaniel turns to see a displeased, black-haired man stalking toward them.

"The man I found on the beach," Lysander answers crisply.

"I told you to put him back."

"Yes, well, you're not king yet, Leigh."

This Leigh, apparently, bristles and grabs Lysander by the arm, yanking him back to his side as he fixes Nathaniel with a smoldering glare. "You cannot just bring strange people in here! He could be an assassin!"

Lysander shakes him off and pointedly steps forward. "He doesn't talk and he can't even dress himself, he's hardly dangerous. A bit odd, but not dangerous. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to be a good host."

Suddenly a door on the left wall opens and a girl as svelte as an angelfish steps over the threshold, violet dress swishing. "What's going on?" she asks, alerted by the commotion.

"Nothing. Good day, Rosalya." Lysander curtly dips his head and takes Nathaniel by the hand, briskly herding him down the hall at a pace that it feels like stepping on mines to match.

He has to strain against letting his legs buckle and sags with relief when Lysander finally seats him down at the end of a prodigious table.

"Sorry about that," murmurs Lysander. "My brother can be...Difficult."

Nathaniel blinks and gives a crooked smile, wiggling his hand a little. If that was Leigh being difficult, he was the tamest of siblings compared to Amber.

"He probably won't like it if I keep you, but my parents won't mind. They're rather lenient, and— Ah. Not 'keep you,' that's not right, you're not a pet rabbit. I only mean that I'm welcoming you to stay here. It wouldn't sit well with me if I cast you out. You obviously don't have anywhere to go."

Before Nathaniel can figure out how to signal that he's wholeheartedly going to accept this offer, a young woman in a black and white uniform trots up to Lysander.

"Can I do something for you, sire?" Her gaze curiously flits to him before settling back on the prince.

"Actually..." Lysander trails off, brow creasing as he looks back to Nathaniel. "I'm not exactly sure how to ask if there's anything specific you'd like to eat."

Nathaniel blinks. He isn't even entirely sure what humans eat. Fish of course, as he does (though they're not nearly as good at catching them). Bread, he hasn't sampled but knows of, as he's watched them toss it to the seagulls and the ducks. But even if he specifically craved either of these, he doesn't know how to demonstrate it.

They spend the new few minutes looking at each other with no particular conclusion and then the servant interrupts the silence with a loud exhale of realization.

"I see," she says, turning to Nathaniel with a gleam of triumph in her eyes like she's just solved the world's most complicated puzzle. "You can't speak."

Despite facing the trials of a language barrier and being immersed in a reality he knows nil about, Nathaniel suddenly feels a lot less slow.

"No, Iris, he can't speak." Lysander sighs. "Just bring him whatever is abundant in the kitchen, I suppose."

She dips her head and quickly departs to her task. Nathaniel blows a stray bang from his eyes and looks around at the rest of the room. A crystal chandelier as big as a small boat hangs down from an ornate ceiling and he can't help thinking how much his mother would've loved to add it to the hoard. He looks back to the prince and resists the urge to touch his hair.

Lysander meets his eye and they resume their staring contest. Except it's not really a contest, it's more of a search. Nathaniel thinks he finds questions before the servant comes back and presents him with a platter. There's something that's presumably edible in the middle of the plate, a roundish, lumpy-bread thing drizzled in sauce. He lowers his head and sniffs at it curiously.

It's a different smell, steamy. He licks up a sample of the sauce and gasps in unison with the maid. It's amazing! It's like nothing he's ever tasted, but it makes his tongue sing sweeter than a seasoned siren. He picks up the bread thing and gobbles it ravenously, sauce rolling down his arm. He licks his lips and goes back for it, lapping up along his wrist.

The servant lets out a squawk and when he glances up, both she and Lysander are staring at him in a mix of mortification and stupefaction. Well hell. What did he do wrong?

He furrows his brow, blinking at them in nonplus.

None of them do anything or answer the question he can't voice, so he just looks back to his plate. Silverware twinkles up at him and he recognizes it, after all, he'd stolen some himself in previous wreaks and added it to the hoard. But why is it here? Perhaps it's a gift? Sheesh. Between filling his belly and presenting him with expensive tokens, these people are almost too kind.

Not that he's complaining. It's better for them to be too kind than not kind at all. He moves the silverware off to the side and slurps up the leftover crumbs.

"Erm...Sire? Your friend here won't be joining us for dinner, will he?"

Lysander's expression changes to cool neutrality. "I wasn't planning on attending myself." With that, he gets up from the table. "Please see to it that the dishes get cleaned, Iris. Nix, come along."

Nathaniel gets up with a little wince and follows after him, struggling to keep with his abrupt, speedy stride and puzzling over the shift in his demeanor. There's something behind that reticent veil. But for the time being, walking takes up every bit of focus he has to spare.

Lysander leads him down another spacious corridor, and then they're outside and the sky above is gauzy coral as the sun sinks into the sea. Nathaniel realizes that oh, it's that time. Mirth rises in his chest because this time he can join Lysander instead of observing from afar.

"You can leave now, if you wish," Lysander murmurs as they head toward the sand. "Though you're certainly welcome to, you don't have to stay. I'm not holding you captive. I only wanted to make sure you were alright."

Nathaniel gently bumps his shoulder and holds onto his sleeve, hoping this conveys his answer clearly enough.

Lysander's lips twitch and he doesn't say anything more. Nathaniel lets go when they reach the shoreline and strips himself completely as the prince takes off his shoes, scrambling toward the water and submerging himself as soon as it's deep enough. Despite choosing to be separated from it, he finds solace in the reunion.

The chilly salt water is an anodyne to his throbbing legs and embraces him like he's forgiven. He knows he has to go back up for air when his lungs start to hurt and he does so, whipping his hair out of his face and breathing in a great gulp.

A soft, blithe sound carries on the sea breeze and he looks over to see Lysander laughing.

"Maybe you are a nix, after all. You take to the water like a fish." Lysander meets his eyes, lips shaping a subtle, uncertain smile. "It's funny. I've certainly never met anyone like you, and yet you somehow seem so familiar..."

The couple of weeks that follow are utterly crammed with learning and adaptation.

Lysander spends an hour a day teaching him to write and this is probably one of the most interesting things Nathaniel is learning. Communication through script would be a very beneficial skill for him to learn, and it's something Lysander does a lot even when he isn't instructing Nathaniel.

His penmanship is quick and neat. Elegant. Nathaniel thinks it's pretty even though he can't really read much of it yet. He's just learned how to copy the letters and how they're formatted. Books are compilations of writings, not all of them factual, not all of them linear, but all smelling very, very good.

The palace has a library full of books, all emanating their wonderful aroma. It's actually where he's on his way to right now...He thinks he is, anyway. It's where he wants to go, but the palace is huge and confusing despite the tour he'd been given.

Even though he's growing accustomed to the constant, shooting pain in his legs, he's worn from wandering around so long. He's been looking for the library since lunch— wherein he's also learning things.

Apparently silverware is not just there to look pretty. It serves a purpose as an eating utensil and it's extremely rude to use the wrong type for the wrong food, ruder still not to use them at all. Naturally this explains why Iris and Lysander were so appalled when he didn't and he supposes he's a bit embarrassed in retrospect, but it's not his fault humans have ridiculous practices.

It seems like a waste to him to complicate eating when hands and mouths work just fine, but nonetheless, Nathaniel is paying mind to his lessons.

He wishes he would've paid more mind to the layout of the palace.

He has absolutely no idea where he is.

This corridor is a narrow one, paintings mostly absent from these particular walls aside from a mural depicting a unicorn hunt. There aren't any doors in sight. Nathaniel just continues on until he finally comes across one. It isn't the door to the library, he doesn't think, but if he passes this door up he doesn't know when he's going to see another one.

He turns the knob, lip curling in distaste as he sees what lies beyond the threshold.

Stairs.

Of course it has to be stairs. Nathaniel takes a break and sits on the top step, massaging his legs. It doesn't help. Nothing really helps the pain, but a couple minutes of rest should help him gather his bearings to conquer the stairs.

They're steep and carved of polished marble, leading down. Where to? Someone's bed chamber? Another pantry? Hell?

Nathaniel grips the railing and gets to his feet, keeping a firm hold on it as he makes his way down. It's a long, spiraling staircase and it feels twice as long when every step shreds his legs. Walking on flat surfaces is torture, stairs are unbearable. But he can bear the unbearable. He's already done the impossible just by coming here.

The newly familiar scent of land grass tickles his nose, growing stronger as he continues down. A faint, rushing sound joins it. Nathaniel makes the last turn and steps into sunlight, finding himself outside.

Dark green hedges shaved into all kinds of shapes surround a paved way. A lovely stone fountain spurts water in the middle and Leigh sits with Rosalya on the edge of the basin. They're holding hands and she's talking animatedly about something, only breaking off when she notices Nathaniel.

A crooked grin spreads across her face and she laughs aloud, a peppy, bouncy sound. "It looks like Lysander's scandalous friend decided to join us."

Leigh turns his head and lets out a strangled squawk of horror, eyes popping wide as he shields Rosalya's with his hand. "Have you no decency!? For god's sake, go put some clothes on!"

Ugh, clothes. Nathaniel loathes them. They're so uncomfortable and restricting. He has no idea why humans wear them all the time. He snorts and simply continues on, briskly climbing into the fountain. Even if it isn't the salt water he grew up in, it's still cool and soothes his legs. He has to make his misdirection worthwhile.

"No, no, get out of there!" Leigh waves his arms wildly and Rosalya stares at him with much less distress, doubling over as she laughs.

Nathaniel doesn't see what the big deal is but Leigh's turning red. He ignores him and dunks his head under the spout, exhaling in contentment as cool water cascades down his back.

"That is not a washtub." Leigh tries to grab him so Nathaniel splashes him in the face, jerking an offended noise out of him. Knowing he's going to get kicked out one way or the other, Nathaniel climbs out by himself.

Rosalya finally gains control of herself and stands up, wiping Leigh's face with her sash. "Here, love."

Nathaniel takes the opportunity to slip away. He ventures along down the way, admiring the hedges. One is cut to be a teapot, another is a crab, a horse. The shaped hedges lead into a larger garden.

These hedges aren't cut into shapes, but they're dotted with berries and surrounded by various colorful plants of different shapes that remind him a little bit of coral. He curiously heads toward a cluster of them but pauses as his nose starts to twitch. The next thing he knows, he's sneezing. It's an uncontrollable fit that makes him stagger backward, inhaling choppily.

He somehow manages to get over the fit but his eyes itch terribly. At this point Leigh catches up with him. It's genuinely an accident that the crown prince gets sprayed with snot when Nathaniel falls victim to another fit.

Leigh doesn't seem to see it that way. He bristles and shoots a sharp glower at Nathaniel as he grabs his wrist. "Alright, you. Let's go."

Leigh drags him off and though he's irritated by being manhandled like this, Nathaniel doesn't resist. Leigh could probably toss him out of the palace whether he has Lysander's favor or not. Leigh actually seems to be the one in charge here. Nathaniel's met the king and queen and though they apparently outrank him, they're just bumbling old people. Whenever visitors seek council, it's with Leigh.

His eyes still itch and he rubs at them absently as he's tugged along. Leigh drags him back inside through a different, bigger entrance. The inside looks familiar here and becomes even more so as Leigh leads him toward his quarters. They run into Lysander first, what Nathaniel now recognizes as a pad of paper under his arm.

"You've lost track of your exhibitionist just like you lose track of everything else," Leigh huffs and pushes Nathaniel toward him.

"Oh, Nix, I told you you have to keep your clothes on," Lysander scolds gently. His tone discards its leniency when he turns back to Leigh. "I didn't lose track of him. He can do what he likes."

"No, no he can't, because apparently what he likes is wandering around naked and jumping into fountains!" Leigh rakes a frustrated hand back through his hair. "He's a pervert! Rosalya saw him!"

"He's not a pervert, he just doesn't know any better." Lysander sniffs. "Besides, it's nothing Rosalya hasn't seen plenty of times bef—"

Leigh slaps him. Hard. Lysander stumbles to the side and drops his paper.

Leigh whips around and leaves without another word.

Nathaniel's shocked. He doesn't move a muscle, at a loss for how to respond.

Lysander touches his cheek. "How can I be so selfish?" he says to himself, so soft Nathaniel's barely sure he heard it at all. He picks the paper back up and stands, eyes umbral and lips pressed in a line.

Nathaniel hesitates before tugging his sleeve.

"Hm?" Lysander gives him his attention nonetheless.

Nathaniel holds up an index finger on either side of his head and wiggles them a couple times.

"You want to go see the rabbits?"

He'd rather go to the library, but he thinks seeing them might make Lysander feel better and he feels guilty for causing trouble between him and Leigh. Well, he supposes he didn't cause it. He's been here long enough to know there's something more than sibling rivalry up with them, but he did stir the pot.

Also, doing things that Lysander likes with him are bound to boost his own likability. If he doesn't want to die he needs Lysander to consider him marriage material and that incentive is present in every interaction. So he nods and lowers his hands.

"Alright," Lysander agrees. "But you need to put clothes on first. You also need to keep them on. Understood?"

Nathaniel sighs but bows his head and obediently marches to his room, throwing on the outfit he'd discarded on the floor earlier this morning. He does know how clothes work now, but that doesn't mean he has to like them.

Lysander waits for him and leads the way. Though communication is important and Nathaniel is frustrated with his inability to do so verbally, it's actually less of an issue than he thought it would be. Lysander is a quiet person. He doesn't prattle on pointlessly and he never seems to feel the need to fill the silence with conversation for the sake of conversation.

He doesn't seem to be bothered by Nathaniel's voicelessness, even if it complicates things. He never loses his patience when it takes multiple tries to understand Nathaniel's charades and he always pays close attention to Nathaniel's expressions. Nathaniel appreciates this greatly and when he masters writing, he'll let him know.

The rabbits live in a sizable pen behind the stable. Inside the pen is a small hutch for them to get in and out other, an island in the sea of grass. Lysander's told him that he finds it peaceful, but not the kind of peaceful that's good for writing because the rabbits are so cute they're distracting. Nathaniel personally finds them much more strange than cute, but perhaps he'd feel different if he were born on land.

Lysander sits in the grass and opens the pen. Nathaniel sits beside him. The rabbits glance over, aware but not alarmed. They're very tame. They hop right over and let themselves be pet.

Nathaniel does like running his fingers through their fur and watching their weird little noses wiggle. A humid breeze rustles through the grass and it's the only sound as the minutes glide by.

Lysander's features gradually soften. He doesn't seem happy, exactly, but he doesn't seem sad anymore.

"I'm impressed," Lysander declares, looking over Nathaniel's written accomplishment today (a full copy of the alphabet and the names of the objects in the library). "Your letters are much smaller and neater than they were."

Nathaniel nods. He's getting more used to holding the quill. He's also always been the type to immediately work on improving himself if anything he does comes out embarrassingly subpar, and such would be the kindest way to refer to his initial messy, illegible script. Especially in comparison to Lysander's small loops and keen neatness.

Lysander folds the paper and tucks it between the other pages in his notebook. "Now that that's done, would you like to go to the city with me?"

Nathaniel inquisitively tilts his head. Unless he counts going to the beach at sunset, he's never been outside the palace with Lysander.

"I'm not supposed to leave without a guard but Leigh's busy today, he won't notice. And I have the gate key." Lysander smiles and moves his cravat, revealing a steel key on a small, silver chain underneath. "I thought you might like to come see it. You're always so curious about everything else."

Cheeks warming at that, Nathaniel averts his eyes and nods.

Lysander smiles and gets up, pushing his chair in. Nathaniel follows suit. He knows of human cities, has an idea what to expect anyway. He's heard about them from other merfolk and in theory they don't sound vastly different from underwater societies.

"I don't have any particular reason for going today," Lysander tells him as they walk down the corridor, likely conscious of the fact Nathaniel wouldn't be able to ask such a specific question, even if he wanted to know. "I just thought it'd be nice."

Nathaniel nods and sticks close until the gate comes into view. Lysander takes the key off his neck and unlocks it, putting it back on afterward. He forgets to close the gate behind them, however.

Nathaniel gives a snort of amusement before closing it himself and following him down the road. It's wide landscape for awhile, treeless blankets of green and hills bordering the sky. Nathaniel can tell it's going to be a long walk, but it's just as well.

Lysander seems especially cheery, softly humming a musical tune. The breeze frisks his hair, making it look kind of fluffy and once again, Nathaniel just wants to touch it. He reaches out and Lysander must see him out of the corner of his eye, because he ducks his head out of the way.

"Hey," he says. "Personal space, Nix. We talked about this."

Nathaniel lets out a petulant puff. He takes Lysander hand and puts it on top of his own head, ruffling it through his hair.

Lysander doesn't say anything, mouth only opening in an 'o' of surprise. Nathaniel meets his eye and bobs his head, hoping his meaning is conveyed well enough. A trade-off if you will; Lysander can touch his hair if he lets him do the same.

Lysander catches on easily enough, one brow raising and a corner of his mouth raising with it. "Ah...Well, alright." He pats Nathaniel's head out of his volition and then takes his hand back.

Nathaniel gladly strokes through Lysander's hair and loosely winds a tress of unevenly long forelock around his finger. It's just as soft as it looks and feels shiny somehow, even though shiny isn't a feeling. Maybe there's a word for that and he just hasn't learned it yet. He pets the top of his head and then takes his hand back.

"Are you happy now?" Lysander asks.

Nathaniel nods and flashes him a satisfied smile.

"You are an interesting person." Lysander breathes a laugh. "A very interesting person."

Is that a compliment? At any rate he supposes it's more flattering than being called boring.

There's no steady transition of grass to buildings. Up ahead pillars of brick and boxes of stone simply transcend the landscape and peak in the skyline, stretching horizontally farther than the eye can see. It looks a tad overwhelming. It sounds even more so, the closer they get, the louder is the noise. So much noise, squeaking wheels, shouting humans, music and endless indistinguishable things added to the mix.

Even so, Nathaniel swallows his discomfort. He's always wanted to explore this world and this is a perfect opportunity.

Once they're there, it's nothing less than breathtaking. Countless shops and stands line bustling streets. Humans everywhere, young ones, old ones, fat ones, small ones, all rushing about and chattering to each other. Some are ringing bells and pushing carts with wheels. A group of them are right in the square, jumping and spinning around. The girls' dresses flare like nudibranchs as they slap circular, spangled instruments.

These are the ones confusing him the most, so he consults Lysander with a tug on the sleeve and squiggles his index finger toward them.

"Hm? The dancers?" Lysander tips his head. "Would you like to join them?"

No way. Nathaniel vigorously shakes his head.

"So it seems you have a shy side after all," teases Lysander. He fishes through the pouch on his belt and slips out a couple gold coins, tossing them into the upside down hat on the cobblestone. They cheer their thanks and one girl whistles and shakes her instrument at him. Lysander dips his head in acknowledgment and carries along.

Nathaniel follow with a slow step, trying to absorb everything that bombards his senses. The air is thick with a million different scents and echoes with a million different sounds, and he doesn't even want to blink because then he might miss one of the details of this queer and remarkable picture. Everything is so busy.

Lysander gives everyone they pass coins. He slips into every shop with Nathaniel on his heels and leaves money on the counters without buying anything at all. Initially Nathaniel is so caught up in admiring the inventories of various products of things he sometimes recognizes and sometimes doesn't that he doesn't notice.

He just takes a few coins and leaves them on the counter, accept the heartfelt thank-yous and moves on. He leaves them on the stands and carts they pass as well.

One woman refuses to accept it for free and gives them a plump, round fruit with a ripply rind in return. Lysander tucks it under his arm, thanks her and Nathaniel bows his head to show his own appreciation before they continue on.

"Have you ever had honeydew?" he asks.

Nathaniel figures that must be the name of the fruit and shakes his head.

"I rather like it myself. They're sweet. This one feels like a juicy o—" He cuts himself off, concern renting his face as he stops. "Are you limping?"

Nathaniel didn't notice. He's adapting to the pain. Today's walk has been an excruciatingly long one, but his suffering is a tired background event to everything else. It was anyway, now that it's been brought to the forefront of his mind...Well, he'd really like to sit down...

Ah, no. He sucks it up and plasters on a puzzled mask, spryly skipping a few steps forward just to display how fine he is and get the smile back on Lysander's face.

It works. Lysander relaxes and starts walking again. "My mistake."

Nathaniel gives an easy wave of the hand and then Lysander passes the honeydew to him so his hands are free to keep distributing coins.

He reads Nathaniel's looks without Nathaniel having to figure out how to express his question and pyramids his fingers. "I believe it's the least I can do. They're my people. Leigh never wants me coming here alone, always ranting on about assassins and kidnappers...But they're good people. They should be rewarded for all the hard work they do."

And this was the man who thought himself selfish? Frankly, Nathaniel isn't sure whether he's trying to court a human or an angel. He lightly brushes his shoulder in reply.

A fountain comes into view just around the corner. A pair of children walk around the basin with their arms stretched out for balance. It isn't as large or extravagant as the one at the palace, but it's definitely big enough to climb into and then some. As Lysander slips into the next shop, Nathaniel makes his way over to it.

He sets the honeydew on the basin and climbs right in, unwinding in the water's cool embrace. His skin hums, the pain in his legs ebbing. The children gawk at him, their arms still outstretched and big eyes blinking. It makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't like children. Not merfolk children, not human children.

"Hey, Mister," says the male child. "I don't think you're supposed to do that."

Why not? He kept his clothes on this time.

"Ooh look!" shouts the girl, hopping off the basin. "I'm taking his melon!" She hugs the honeydew to her chest with both arms and goes trotting off with it, the boy on her heels.

Nathaniel scowls. This is exactly why he doesn't like children. He gets out and goes after her. It takes all of about ten steps for him to catch up. Her legs are small, stumpy things and the damn melon is almost bigger than she is. He grunts irritably and grabs it. He doesn't yank it out of her grasp because she's tiny and he doesn't want to hurt her, he only keeps his hold on it and tries to glare her into submission.

Feisty little shit glares right back at him and sticks her tongue out. The boy puts his arms around her waist and tries to tug her back.

"Let go," he snaps at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel makes a sound of dissent and refuses.

"There you are," Lysander announces his arrival. Belatedly, he notices what's going on and crouches down beside him so he's at eye level with the kids.

"If you want the melon, you just have to say please. We don't need it." His gaze briefly flickers up to Nathaniel.

The kids pause for a long moment and exchange looks with each other.

"Please," says the girl in a tone that is not particularly polite. Nathaniel still lets go.

She scurries away and though begrudgingly, he has to give her credit for managing to carry something that probably weighs more than she does. The boy lingers for a heartbeat and yips a quick 'thanks' before bounding after her. Lysander stands up again, glancing to Nathaniel and doing a double take.

"Why are you all wet?"

Nathaniel indicates the fountain with his thumb.

Lysander puts a hand on his hip and gives Nathaniel a reproachful smile. "I know you love water but do try to restrain yourself. Fountains are for display."

Nathaniel thinks it's stupid for what works as a perfectly good thing to soak in be reduced to one use. His face must say as much because Lysander sympathetically pats him on the back.

"Alright, you can splash around in the one in the garden. We'd best be getting on our way back anyway."

Nathaniel flanks Lysander down the corridor. When Rosalya emerges from an intersecting one, he makes to duck away into one of the doors on the left but she notices them first.

"Hi, Lysander," she chirrups, strolling over. "Hi, Nudist Boy."

"Hello," Lysander says stiffly. Nathaniel raises his hand in a wave.

"I was going to go pick some berries for Laeti's pie. Do you two wanna help?" She smiles warmly, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Sorry, we're busy." Lysander grabs Nathaniel by the hand and hurries around the next corner. They aren't busy. They were just going outside to go outside.

But he knows Rosalya makes Lysander uncomfortable for some reason. He doesn't know what reason, wouldn't pry even if he knew how to ask, but he knows that she does.

Lysander lets go of him and resumes his normal stride when they're about halfway down the hall. Nathaniel debates on whether to take his hand again. Holding hands is a sign of affection to humans just like it is to merfolk and if he doesn't want to die, he really needs to put more effort into romancing Lysander.

He's been spending all his time with him and trying to get closer to him, but if it's working it's not working fast enough. Is he doing something wrong?

He's probably doing something wrong. He's never tried to seduce anyone before. He's never really been interested in anyone before...Well, no one accept Lysander. He's watched him for years (god, Armin was right, that sounds so creepy) but he was always more fascinated by both him and what he represented than romantically inclined. Even now, he's more driven to marry him to save himself than he is because he's in love with him.

Nathaniel doesn't think he is in love with him. He cares about him, yes, deeply, he's attracted to him, yes, fiercely, and he's ecstatic that he can finally know him, but is all that really the same as being in love with him? Is it worth turning into fucking sea foam for if he fails?

Nathaniel's diverted away from the issues he doesn't have answers to as Lysander leads him outside. They're in the eastern grounds, an open, level space where the family rides horses sometimes. Clouds roll lazily across the sky, gauzily expanding and covering the sun. Some of them morph into shapes as they go along and it's this Nathaniel decides to point out to Lysander to shake off the lingering unease lining his eyes.

He nudges him gently and gestures to the cloud that looks like a chair.

Lysander lifts his head. "Oh..."

Nathaniel points to another one that resembles a bird.

"You'll like this one," Lysander says, pointing to another. "It looks like you."

What it actually looks like is a fish and Nathaniel playfully flicks him in the head before showing him a cloud that's shaped like a spider. They go back and fourth and end up flopping on their backs in the grass, simply gazing as cottony white fish turn to cottony white bears and the bears slowly crawl to the next span of blue to make way for new ones.

Serenity floats the silence between them as distant sounds sing on the breeze.

Now is when Nathaniel makes a move, softly skimming his fingers over Lysander's and gently resting them overtop. Lysander glances to him without pulling away and Nathaniel smiles shyly.

Lysander returns the smile and simply looks back to the sky as he turns his hand under Nathaniel's, lacing their fingers.

The day before they watched the clouds and they were quiet while the world had noise. Tonight they study the stars and the world is soundless while Lysander tells him all about the constellations.

"That one is Cygnus, the swan," he declares, tracing the outline of the sparkling speckles with his finger. "It's especially bright this time of year. And just as beautiful as a real swan, don't you think?"

Nathaniel bobs his head.

"It gets its name from— Wait, you know not to approach real swans, right? If you startle them, they will chase you."

Nathaniel hurriedly nods. He's seen swans of course, here on land and back in the water, and never bothered them. However, Amber tried to catch one once and the results were not pretty (not for her anyway, but he had a good laugh).

"Okay, just making sure...Anyway, it gets its name from Metamorphoses. Metamorphoses is a book, by the way. I'm not usually very fond of tragedies, so I have to say it's surprised me by becoming one of my favorites. It maintains its decorum despite the darker themes and those are accompanied by strong themes of love and mutability, so it doesn't leave the helpless taste of despair in your mouth that I find in most other examples of the genre..."

Lysander trails off and sheepishly smoothes his hair back. "Ah, forgive me. I didn't mean to go off on a tangent."

Nathaniel shakes his head and beams brightly, urging him to continue. He doesn't mind. He loves listening to flutters in his voice like dragonfly wings when Lysander goes on about things he enjoys. It's good for him to learn these things too. Anything he learns about Lysander is important, and learning in general is just something Nathaniel himself enjoys.

He's always been inquisitive, intent on soaking up all knowledge there is to know.

"Well, pick out a star," Lysander murmurs. "I'll tell you what it's apart of."

Nathaniel blinks and gazes up, deliberating. There are endless silver flecks in the abyssal ink above, a bounty to choose from. Are they all even apart of constellations?

The mere concept of stories in the sky is a bit mind-blowing for him. Merfolk never put stock in stars as anything other than the mysterious, ethereal beings that most things above the sea were, though he recalls Debrah boasting that she could bottle their light.

He picks one with no particular distinction from the other ones, one small, pretty twinkle in a still storm of pretty twinkles.

Lysander's eyes follow the line of his arm. "That one is apart of Lyra, the harp." He connects Nathaniel's star to the rest of them with slow strokes of his finger. "Its origin is also tragic. A man loses his wife on their wedding day and fails in his quest to recover her from the dead at the last moment, only to wander around until he himself is killed. He played a god's harp, hence Lyra."

Nathaniel blinks. He wants to ask if they're all born from tragedies, so he gestures across the sky with both hands in wide circuits, frowns tautly, and then taps his lips.

Lysander purses his own lips and studies him. "Um...I'm sorry, I don't quite...Stars make you sad?"

Nathaniel shakes his head. 'All,' he mouths, repeating the charades with more enunciation in his movements.

"Um...Are they all sad?"

Yes, there. Nathaniel says as much with a snap of his fingers.

"Ah. Well no, not all of them, though many of them are. I think it's because people seem to find suffering more meaningful than thriving. They believe pain is more profound, beautiful in ways happiness can't be and that goodness proves shallow in comparison. I personally disagree. Strongly disagree, to be frank. I think all emotions and experiences are meaningful, with how you handle them and what you learn from them being all the more so. Perhaps it's only me." Lysander sighs wistfully and lays on his back.

"I suppose I'm not in any true place to judge. My own experiences are so limited..."

Nathaniel plays with the grass, ruminating. He doesn't see anything meaningful in suffering, personally. Every time he takes a step he suffers and he hasn't found any philosophical insight or depth in himself. Pain doesn't do anything but piss him off and make life harder.

Not that he thinks happiness is any more meaningful. He's happy being with Lysander, right here, right now and he's not having any kind of spiritual awakening or discoveries of the heart, even if he does appreciate this moment.

Does anything have meaning? Does anything have to?

Snorting softly, he lies down and lays his head on Lysander's chest.

"Personal space, Nix," Lysander reiterates.

Nathaniel turns his head so his chin rests on Lysander's sternum and pleadingly stares into his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," moans Lysander.

Nathaniel widens his eyes and flutters his lashes cutely.

"Fine," Lysander gives in.

Simpering, he assumes his first position and makes himself comfortable.

Lysander resumes explaining the constellations and in the stillness of the night Nathaniel feels his fingers card through his hair. A tentative, slow gesture, but there nonetheless.

Obviously he doesn't have to hunt anymore but the grouper is right there and on instinct, Nathaniel catches it. He pops his head above the water and shakes his hair out, paddling back toward the shallows. Lysander is still wading, eyes half-lidded as the orangish glow of the sunset shades his face.

He glances at Nathaniel and then faces him fully, gawking with incredulity. "There's a fish in your mouth!"

Nathaniel doesn't think much of it but he supposes it's only natural Lysander would. Humans don't fish without tools like nets and rods. He nods cheerfully and holds it out to Lysander as a gift. Gifts might earn him more marriage-material points and he also supposes it's fair, since he's been eating at Lysander's table.

"Uh...Okay. Ah, thank you..." Lysander takes the grouper and glances around like he isn't sure what to do with it. He settles on just holding it and then blinks at Nathaniel, baffled. "How did you do that?"

Nathaniel supposes he could show him. He takes him by the hand and begins to pull him along. Lysander gasps and wrenches out of his grip, scrabbling back so fast he drops the grouper and falls on his behind.

"No, no, sorry, I don't go any farther than this." He swallows as he scoots back to the shoreline, eyes gone frantic like a startled rabbit's.

Nathaniel opens his lips, troubled. He didn't mean to scare him. He feels bad for that (and for the marriage-material points he probably just lost). He holds up his hands defensively and then backs up a few steps to ensure he isn't cornering him, water sloshing around his shins.

"I almost drowned, remember?" Lysander mumbles softly, casting his gaze down to the sand. "I can't swim."

Shit. Nathaniel hadn't know that. The storm had been chaotic enough to take out good swimmers, hell, he'd had trouble swimming through it and he'd literally been swimming since birth.

Nathaniel takes a seat next to him and picks up a stick to write in the wet sand.

'Sorry.'

"It's not your fault," sighs Lysander. "I only wish I wasn't scared of the ocean. Even if I can't swim, I should at least be able to get on a boat...But I can't. I tried to leave the day after it happened and I just...Froze up. It felt like my heart was going to explode and salt water was filling up my throat all over again. It got hard to breathe and I couldn't do it."

'Why leave?' Nathaniel writes next, brow furrowed.

Lysander digs his fingers into the sand. "All I've known my entire life is this palace and there's so much more out there to see. I want to explore...I feel so trapped here sometimes, so suffocated, especially when they're always right in front of me..." He holds his knees to his chest and buries his face in them. "I'm selfish, I know. If I really loved her, I should just be happy for her. I should be happy for him too. And I am happy for them, I want them to be happy...But why do they have to be happy right in front of me?"

Wait, what?

Who is he...?

Oh.

Of course, Leigh and Rosalya. That explains a lot. Nathaniel's actually a little annoyed with himself not not putting the pieces together beforehand. Though he supposes in his own defense he has other things he's been thinking about. Like not turning into sea foam. Lysander's apparently still in love with Rosalya or else he wouldn't be so broken up like this, which is just another slash against the chances he actually has of marrying him. But at least she's spoken for.

Nathaniel pats Lysander on the back in an attempt to comfort him. He's he selfish one here, not Lysander.

"They're getting married in a month and I wanted to get out of here more than ever just so I wouldn't have to see that, so I wouldn't have to keep seeing them all the time, but I can't. Not only am I selfish, but a coward..." Lysander lifts his head and crystalline droplets cling to his lashes before he brushes them away. "I apologize. I never usually talk about my problems like this..."

Nathaniel slowly puts an arm around his shoulder to see how the action is read. Lysander doesn't show discomfort, so he hugs him. He holds him and rubs his back in gentle circles. Lysander leans into him, rests his cheek on his clavicle.

"Thank you," he breathes.

Nathaniel isn't sure what he's being thanked for. He only continues rubbing Lysander's back and when the crown of the sun descends beneath the water, he doesn't point it out.

They're in the city again and Lysander's giving charity left and right. Nathaniel's been given a pouch too, so he helps. They don't split up because it's much too large and busy and they don't want to get lost from one another, but they do compartmentalize.

Lysander gives coins to shop owners and Nathaniel gives coins to cart owners. They both give coins to the other miscellaneous people out today.

"Thank you," pipes the tiny daughter of a soap salesman, merrily thrusting a bouquet of flowers toward him.

Flowers do not like Nathaniel. He isn't sure why, but they don't and he doesn't like them either. They trigger a strange and unpleasant physical reaction with him and before he can try to convey this to her, said reaction is demonstrated against his will.

He breaks into a sneezing fit, eyes welling up and itching furiously.

He sneezes so violently that the petals go flying. Between his streaming eyes and the blips of sight he only gets betwixt each sneeze, he can see the girl looking mortified. Lysander takes him by the shoulders and guides him away, calling back to her.

"Sorry, I think he's allergic to pollen!"

He's sorry? She should be sorry! Well okay, Nathaniel knows that's unfair. It's not like she would be aware of this, though he still can't help feeling irritated. Lysander sits him down on a bench and produces a silky handkerchief from his pocket.

"Are you okay?"

Nathaniel nods as he takes it and wipes his nose, mildly repulsed. Snot is an unsavory thing. Now he's congested and that's unfortunate because Nathaniel knows the handkerchief smells good. Lysander keeps it in one of his pockets and Lysander always smells good. He smells like the fancy parsley and the black pepper the cooks use to accent dinner, with just a hint of ink.

He blinks his eyes until they clear and notices a man hovering nearby. He figures he's another citizen who wants a little bonus and almost points him out to Lysander, when he notices the man has a gold ring on each finger. Nobody with accessories like that needs anymore money, so he doesn't bother to and simply stands instead and lets Lysander lead the way.

As they make their rounds street after street, it comes to Nathaniel's attention that the guy is following them. Lysander doesn't notice at all and just when Nathaniel goes to alert him, the guy's disappeared. Or at any rate, Nathaniel can't see him anymore. Then they're at the shoe shop and he is immediately distracted from the matter entirely.

There's something so captivating about the cobbler sewing the sole with precise, swift motions through the perfect line of little holes. It's so fascinating to him, it's almost astounding. Maybe it's because he's never seen anything like it before. Nathaniel hates shoes along with every other kind of clothing but he can still respect the kind of skill it must take to do so.

Lysander must know how intrigued he is, or else is equally intrigued, because he doesn't urge Nathaniel along and gives the man an extra coin before they do move on.

Now they're both empty and the day is waning anyway, so they loop back. When the fountain comes into view, Nathaniel is sorely tempted to take a dip. It's completely unoccupied at the moment and he's been on his feet for hours. It really shouldn't be an issue right? So what if it's for display? He just needs a minute and he'll keep his clothes on.

"No." Lysander takes his hand and gently pulls him back before he can make his way over.

Nathaniel gives a low noise of disagreement.

"No," Lysander repeats. "And don't give me that petulant look. By the time we get back it will be sunset and you can splash around all you want, even catch another fish if you so desire."

Nathaniel accepts his defeat and doesn't make a break for it.

The stroll out of the city is nice. Nathaniel enjoys visiting it but it is a loud and unruly place. He welcomes the quiet that dawns as they leave it behind. The road is vacant and they have it all to themselves.

For awhile. When they're about halfway back to the palace, the rhythm of trotting horses and squeaking of wheels sounds from behind. Which is a normal enough thing, Nathaniel idly glances back. He freezes as he recognizes the man that was tailing them earlier, halfway out the carriage window and raising his arm to throw a knife.

The cold glint of sun on steel spurns Nathaniel into action. There isn't any time for charades. He springs and tackles Lysander to the ground. The prince lets out an undignified yowl of surprise and struggles under him.

"Nix, what the— ?!" He cuts himself off as the man in the carriage spits out a curse. Understanding flares in his eyes and Nathaniel moves as he snaps upright. He seizes Nathaniel's hand and leaps to his feet, bolting for the hills. He's as fast as a sailfish and as good as this is concerning their current circumstances, Nathaniel strains to keep up.

Running is even worse than stairs, sending lightning storms tearing through his legs. Frankly he isn't sure he can keep running no matter how hard he wills himself to and he wants to let go of Lysander's hand so he isn't deadweight. He casts a glance back and though he doesn't see the man in pursuit, he doesn't doubt that he is. What the hell is up with that anyway?

Who is this guy? What's going on? He'd always assumed all those lectures Leigh gives Lysander about kidnappers and thieves were nothing more than overprotective rantings.

Nathaniel doesn't really have time to ponder any of this because coherent thought is impossible when his legs wail for attention, pulsating with wildfire. He tries to slip his hand out of Lysander's, but Lysander's grip is unrelenting.

So is his stride. It feels like they run through eternity before Lysander finally stops, completely breathless behind one of the hills.

"I don't know if we're still being followed," he pants. "But we'll probably be okay here for a moment..."

Nathaniel processes the words abstractly, still caught up in the resonating anguish in his legs. It's so intense it's making him dizzy. Now that Lysander's let go of him, he doesn't even have the momentum to keep himself up and he drops to his knees.

There's something else too, something weird. His back feels wet. Sweat probably, hell, they must've run over twice the diameter of the palace. He reaches back, touches the soaked fabric of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Lysander snaps, gaping at him. "You have to be ready to run!"

Nathaniel distantly hears him, but it doesn't quite compute. His fingers brush something hard and realizes there's something stuck in him. Automatically, he tugs it out.

He sees the knife in his hand and the blood all over but doesn't really process that it's his blood. Initially he's just disgusted by the fact the blood is all over his hand. He can't steady his hand, either, it keeps shaking and the knife weighs much more than it did two seconds ago. Then it kind of clicks, oh, I've been stabbed.

There isn't any pain. The only thing that hurts is his legs. He glances up, sees Lysander's horrified expression. His lips are moving, but if he's saying anything Nathaniel can't hear it. He squints and tilts his head to try and read them. They're moving too fast, he can't make sense of anything and when the world goes dark, they're the last things to fade.

Nathaniel blinks his eyes open blearily. His thoughts aren't working right, he feels like he's in a fog, but the familiar, warm scent of his pillow lets him know he's in his room. Lysander's standing with Leigh a few meters away and he's an absolute mess about something, just sobbing. He's trembling like a gull against a gale and making high-pitched, unintelligible noises as tears flood from his eyes.

Nathaniel wants to find out what's wrong but his body doesn't want to move. Leigh says something soft that he doesn't catch and hugs Lysander, presses a kiss to the top of his head.

It seems like he's in good hands, so Nathaniel lets his eyes close and surrenders to sleep.

When Nathaniel comes to again, everything that happened bombards his memory. He jerks upright only for firm hands to take shoulders and push him back onto his stomach.

"Keep still," says Leigh. "Don't get up, you'll agitate your wound."

His attempt to already did. Pain radiates from the small of his back, blunt and throbbing.

Leigh sits back in the chair beside the bed and Nathaniel reaches out, tugging on his sleeve as worry gnaws through his stomach. He tips his head up as best he can and mouths Lysander's name.

"He's fine," Leigh promises. "Thanks to you, he's fine. That fiend followed your blood trail but he had he knife and though he may be clueless, he's not helpless...I suppose I forget that sometimes...Mm. He was here until about an hour ago, then I finally made him go to bed. He hasn't slept in days, unlike you." Leigh rests his elbow on his leg and props his chin in his hand. "You've been unconscious for nearly a week."

Nathaniel gapes, curling his fingers into the sheets as he absorbs the information.

"There was poison on the blade," Leigh goes on. "Apparently not potent enough for killing intent, so the blood loss was more worrisome. In any case, here you are." He gives Nathaniel a small, sympathetic smile. "How do you feel?"

Nathaniel lifts his hand and wiggles it sideways. He could feel better but he doesn't feel terrible. His back hurts and he's groggy, but it's a tolerable pain and he's comforted knowing Lysander is okay.

"Would you like some water?"

As soon as he hears the word water Nathaniel realizes just how thirsty and dried out he feels. He nods eagerly.

"Just get yourself up on your elbows. I'll hold the bowl."

Nathaniel nods and does so carefully. Motion twinges his back, though in all honesty it's a tickle compared to the hell that running was. Leigh fills a bowl of water on the nightstand and lifts it to Nathaniel's lips, tilting it just so. Nathaniel swills until it's empty and then flops his head back onto the pillow.

Leigh sets the bowl down and twiddles his fingers for awhile before speaking. "Well...Thank you for protecting my brother."

Nathaniel rubs his lips together and exhales softly. He doesn't really deserve the thanks. He did intend to protect Lysander but getting stabbed for him wasn't intentional. He really hadn't even realized at first. Though...He would've done it again. But that's not saying much. After all, he'd die if Lysander did. Speaking of which, hopefully this earns him some marriage-material points.

However, with all that aside, he's genuinely relieved Lysander's safe for Lysander's sake.

As though summoned by his import, the door opens and Lysander steps through, crescents of darkness under his eyes and hair mussed. "I promise I'll sleep soon, Leigh, I just want to ch— You're awake!"

Nathaniel smiles at him and waves. Lysander shuffles over, lips wordlessly opening and closing as relief wells up in his gaze. He kneels beside the bed and takes Nathaniel's hand in both of his. They're cold and sweaty but the contact is welcome.

"Thank goodness," he gets out, tone small and choked.

Nathaniel's heart flutters, warmth expanding through his chest and overflowing the rungs of his ribs. He isn't sure what to do with it or how to gesture it out, so he only meets Lysander's eyes and smiles wider. He's okay. They're okay.

Lysander presses cool, clement lips to the top of his hand and Nathaniel nuzzles his face into the pillow to hide his flaming cheeks. Damn it. He's supposed to marry this guy, he's been priming himself for weeks to be husband material for this guy, a kiss on the hand should not have him this flustered.

Lysander yawns and lays his cheek on the edge of the mattress. The smile of relief still rests on his mouth as his eyes droop closed. He must be utterly spent because he falls asleep right there in that uncomfortable position.

Leigh sighs and shakes his head, but he doesn't rouse him. He only draws a blanket around his shoulders and nods to bid Nathaniel goodnight before departing to his own quarters.

Apparently the wound is deep and susceptible to reopening, so Nathaniel is confined to his bed until his back heals. Which seems awful, but being laid up isn't as bad as Nathaniel thought it was going to be. Although it is frustrating it definitely has its perks. Not having to walk is a massive relief. He's gotten so used to being in pain he'd almost forgotten what it was like to not be in pain. He also gets to be fussed over by Lysander.

Excessive attention isn't something Nathaniel's up for, usually. He doesn't like being looked at, he likes doing things by himself, and he has a strong, quiet sense of pride that prickles when he has to depend on anyone else.

However, it's different when it's Lysander. First and foremost, courting Lysander is a must, so being the cynosure of his priorities is a promising development. And then...Well, it is kind of consoling to know he cares. Nathaniel isn't really used to that.

Lysander is super attentive, always asking him if his back hurts or if there's anything he needs, always close. Usually he pulls up a chair, but sometimes he sits on the bed and Nathaniel likes that better. He reads to him a lot, in that wonderful, velvet and ash voice Nathaniel swears could outdo any siren. He hangs onto every word he speaks.

Lysander tells him fantastical stories about stained glass girls who sail through stars on the other side of the mirror and Djinni who share their gifts for prices just as unseen and lands where a great crystal sits at the center of everything where guards of ore, shade, and toxicity do their best to defend it. They're all very entertaining and informative in their own ways, a moral usually weaved through the endings. Some with subtlety and some less so.

Lysander also reads him the nonfiction, tells him all about true wonders. Far, far away there are all kinds of different places. There are mountains tall enough to reach the clouds, some capped with snow and some brewing with liquid fire, vast mantles of sand that see only glimpses of rain and breed barbed vegetation, forests of trees with deep black bark and white-pink blossoms that rain down on wispy breezes.

Today's natural masterpiece of reading is salt flats, ethereal mineral pans that shine in the sun and reflect the sky with such precision they erase the boarder between land and sky entirely.

"If I were to leave, I would go see the salt flats first," Lysander declares as he closes the book. "I've always wished I could fly. To stand in the sky must be the next best thing."

Nathaniel stretches a bit and breathes agreement. It's amazing that such a landscape even exists.

Lysander's gaze softens like hot wax, a fond smile gracing his lips. "Would you come with me?"

Nathaniel nods eagerly. Of course he would. He'd follow Lysander anywhere.

"I'm glad." Lysander strokes the spine of the book and hums a thoughtful note in his throat. "I lean towards introversion. I always have, but I can't help thinking that it'd be nice to share the experience of that kind of place with someone else." He pauses, embarrassment crossing his face as he glances away. "There I go, talking about myself again. I'm sorry, I never intend to, I don't even like to, I only...Well. I suppose it's different with you. You never talk at all. You must know a lot of secrets, Nix."

Nathaniel rolls his eyes. He wishes he knew secrets, namely the secret to get Lysander to marry him and escape his due sea foam fate.

"It's none of my business and I don't want to pry, but still...Do you ever wish you could talk?"

Nathaniel nods. It was definitely worth giving up though. He wishes he could tell him that, somehow, but even if he found a way it probably wouldn't make any sense.

Lysander sobers, purses his lips. "I know it must be difficult for you. I'm not sure I always understand you but I always try. So if there's ever anything you need to tell me, please do it however you can. If I don't understand at first, just pinch me until I get it right."

Nathaniel lifts his head. He isn't sure where this is coming from. Still, he puts two fingers to his lips and moves them away with a swivel of the wrist; a gesture they decided meant thanks. Out of nowhere or not, he is indeed grateful for the sentiment.

"You're welcome."

The room is quiet for a few minutes and then Lysander's fingers skim lightly over the bandages. "How's your back?"

Nathaniel gives him a thumbs-up. His pain tolerance has strengthened since he's been on land and his injury is quiet as long as he takes care.

"Well, would you like to hear about tundras?"

Nathaniel nods happily and lets his head fall back to the pillow.

Lysander takes his hand back and opens up the book.

It's a little over a week later when Nathaniel's allowed to get up again and despite the trenchant pain that comes with being back on his feet, he's relieved. He's never been so stationary in his life and it was driving him crazy, even if Lysander tried his best to make it as bearable for him as he could.

He goes outside and inhales a deep breath of fresh air. That was one of the worst things about being laid up, the air in his room grew so stale. Outside it tastes crisp, the scent of rain on the horizon. The sky is a bleak, washed out gray, the sun hiding behind a plume of smokey clouds.

Nathaniel hasn't seen it in so long, he thinks it's never looked prettier. He wanders the palace grounds gleefully, intent on making a full circuit. He sneaks some carrots out of the kitchen and feeds them to the rabbits, then he visits the cats. He likes cats. They're these sleek, sharp-eyed creatures the stablehands keep in the barn to catch the mice and they're very interesting.

They make cute, rumbling noises when they're happy and they're very cleanly. They seem to like Nathaniel too, they bump his legs with their heads and lick his hands with strangely rough tongues. He affectionately pets them all before he moves on. He runs into Rosalya on his trek to the raspberry patch, parasol in her hands.

She giggles and gives him a grin. "Celebrating your recovery au naturel, huh?"

Nathaniel pauses, embarrassment creeping through him. Clothes are troublesome and no, he hadn't bothered to deal with them today, and no, while he isn't embarrassed of being freed from them, the way she's looking him up and down is unsettling. He awkwardly shuffles behind a bush and sucks his lower lip between his teeth.

"Oh, don't be shy," she laughs. "You've got a cute butt."

Nathaniel indignantly plucks a raspberry from the bush and throws it at her. She cheekily catches it right in her mouth and continues on her merry way. He does the same, eating his way to the blackberries.

Even the food that grows without human preparation is much different than anything edible underwater. Not better, but different.

When he's had his fill, he licks the juice off his fingers and a fat droplet precisely hits the tip of his nose. He glances up and then the clouds weep freely, rain showering down. It sprinkles his skin and gifts the land with moisture. He breathes with the breeze and relishes in the scent of dampening earth.

He meanders around and starts to the flat in the southern part of the grounds simply because he hasn't seen it in awhile. He strolls leisurely, enjoying the music of rainfall.

"There you are!"

Lysander's voice tugs him out of his reverie. He turns back to see the prince sprinting toward him, a frown on his lips.

He slows to a stop before Nathaniel and sighs heavily, unfastening his cloak. "You have to wear clothes," he reprimands as he takes it off and sweeps it around Nathaniel's shoulders. "Even if you don't like it, it's common decency. You shouldn't be out here right now anyway. It's raining and you just got out of bed, you don't want to catch a cold."

Nathaniel scowls at the garment but he doesn't take it off. He deliberates for a moment and then takes Lysander's hand, changing direction and heading toward the fountain.

"What? Wait, we should go in." Lysander digs his heels in, though he doesn't take his hand back.

Nathaniel shakes his head and simply carries on. The weather's too beautiful to waste and so is its effect on Lysander. Rain plasters his hair to his neck and trickles down his face in rivulets, mist sparkling in his lashes like dewdrops at dawn.

"Will you at least tell me where you're taking me?" asks Lysander.

Nathaniel doesn't feel like motioning it out, so he just shakes his head again. He doesn't want to let go of Lysander's hand either. The act in itself certainly isn't new but the feeling of water slipping between their fingers and emphasizing the warmth of his palm with its own cool kisses is. It's nice. He wants to make it last.

Lysander doesn't say anything else until they reach the path, and then he chuckles. It's so warm a sound that Nathaniel almost thinks the sun's come back out.

"Oh, I should have known."

Nathaniel grins and releases his hand at the marbled basin. He climbs in and reclines happily, beckoning Lysander to join him.

Lysander quirks a brow. "Well...Alright, I suppose. We're already here." He climbs in and sits next to Nathaniel, crossing his legs.

Nathaniel affectionately bumps his forehead against Lysander's shoulder.

Lysander gives him a playful smile and splashes him. Nathaniel splashes him back and then the next thing he knows, they're having an all out splash-war. It's silly, it's ridiculous, they aren't kids and they shouldn't be doing something so childish. But it's fun and they do it anyway. Nathaniel's smiling so hard his mouth hurts and Lysander's laughter joins the harmony of the rain.

It's abruptly cut off by a crack of lightning.

Nathaniel straightens, startled, but Lysander looks absolutely horrified. His eyes widen as thunder rumbles deep in the clouds, features pulling tight in the white flash of lightning.

It takes Nathaniel a minute to understand, but as soon as he does he feels moronic for not knowing immediately. Of course storms are going to shake Lysander up, he almost died in one!

Lysander doesn't make a sound, tremors racking his frame. Nathaniel climbs out of the fountain and extends a hand to him. The action gets no response. Nathaniel bites his lip. He doesn't really know what to do...He thinks going inside might help. Then at least, Lysander won't be in the storm. Delicately, he touches his shoulder.

Lysander at least looks at him this time. Nathaniel gently squeezes his shoulder and then points back to the palace with his opposite hand. Lysander swallows audibly, nods and lets Nathaniel guide him out of the fountain, nice and easy. He holds both of Lysander's hands and walks backward down the path, encouraging him with his eyes.

Another stroke of lightning causes him to flinch. He ducks his head under the thunder that punctuates it in a guttural drawl, but he doesn't freeze and Nathaniel's able to lead him inside.

It has an immediate effect. Lysander still looks drawn but he stops shaking. Nathaniel charily pats his back and nudges him toward the stairs. Lysander exhales a long, weighted breath and takes the railing.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

Nathaniel quickly shakes his head and only peers at him worriedly. Lysander has no reason to be sorry. Storms bring back terrifying experiences for him, Nathaniel's more worried about his wellbeing than anything.

"I'm fine," Lysander reassures him weakly.

The storm still rages on outside, rain furiously pattering the walls while lightning crackles and wind howls furiously. Lysander moves up the stairs with a stiff, hesitant gait and Nathaniel hovers close.

All he has to offer is his presence and he does so knowing it probably doesn't help a thing.

Nathaniel's guilt doubles when Lysander has a cold the next day. It isn't serious, just a cough and mild congestion. All the same, it's Nathaniel's fault. He bows his head apologetically and hands over the scrap of paper with his written 'sorry.'

Lysander reads it, coughs quietly into his elbow and then gives Nathaniel a gentle look. "Oh no, please don't worry about it."

Nathaniel can't not worry about it, worry about him.

"Don't look so glum," Lysander sniffles. "You shouldn't fret over things you can't change and anyhow, I'm alright. A couple days in bed might help me get over my writer's block."

Nathaniel raises his head, blinking at him. Lysander's hair is messy, nightshirt wrinkled and open, nose tinged red. But he gives Nathaniel a smile. Nathaniel returns it to appease him and then withdraws, slinking from the room. Lysander must have been suppressing a coughing fit for his benefit because as soon as he closes the door, he hears it take hold of him.

Nathaniel winces sympathetically and starts to pace. There isn't really anything he can do about this. He'd like to comfort Lysander at least, return the favor and read to him, but that's obviously impossible.

Maybe he could write him something?

No, no, he's not good enough at writing for that. Not in the sense of ability to write or in the sense of plotting on the spot.

Hmm...

Oh, why doesn't he go catch him some starfish? That's what Nathaniel always eats when he's sick. They don't taste the best but their healing properties are great. They can regrow limbs and they're chock full of nutrients.

Purpose in mind, Nathaniel strides down the corridors and heads down to the beach. He hops into the water, clothes and all. It's too irksome to bother taking them on and off. He swims out until it's deep enough and then dives below, eyes keen as he scours the ocean floor for starfish.

It's not as easy as it used to be. Now that Nathaniel's human, he has to go back up for air. Nathaniel isn't exactly an impatient person but this is frustrating. Not only is it inconvenient in general, but he loses his place when he reaches the surface. For all he knows he's searched the same sandbar three times.

Finally he sights a starfish, a nice and plump six-rayed star, fanned along a rock. It's perfect. He spreads his arms and kicks, soaring toward it. He's halfway to it when that tight pressure in his chest tells him it's time to go back up. Damn it, he's so close! It's just out of reach when his lungs burn so bad he knows they're about to burst.

He can't get Lysander a starfish if he's dead.

Nathaniel abandons his mission with virulence, jetting back up to the surface. He thrusts his head above the water and coughs, gulping in great gulps of air.

"Whoooa, Nathaniel!?"

Nathaniel whips around to see Armin swimming toward him, agape with surprise. He lifts his hand in greeting, still panting heavily.

"Wow, it is you!" Armin grins and circles him, dipping his head underwater before popping it up again. "So it's true, you got legs! That's really weird!" He dips under again and quizzically pokes at them. Nathaniel grunts and kicks at him in warning.

Armin surfaces again. "Sorry. You can't blame me for being curious."

Nathaniel huffs and flicks some water at him. He's been so busy with land and all its trials he hadn't really realized until now that he kind of missed him. It's not like he and Armin were super close, but they were always friendly. They hunted together sometimes, traded complaints about their siblings, and occasionally played with the dolphins.

"Oh yeah, I guess you can't talk, huh?"

Nathaniel shakes his head.

"Well that sucks." Armin thumps his back in pity. "Could be worse though. Alexy knew this guy who knew this guy who went to the witch for some seahorse tonic and she took his soul! And then like, remember what happened to Castiel!? Actually, losing your voice is really tame when it comes to her. You're pretty lucky."

Nathaniel might be inclined to agree, if it weren't for the fact that he's always walking on knives and he's going to turn into sea form if he can't marry Lysander. But it's not like Armin knows any of this and he wouldn't want to unload even if he could, so he just nods his head.

"So what are you doing back here?" Armin tilts his head.

Nathaniel puts one hand overtop the other and slowly wiggles all his fingers to mimic starfish legs.

Armin watches for a long moment, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips as he concentrates. Then his face crumples in defeat. "Yeah, sorry, I have no idea what that's supposed to mean."

Nathaniel sighs. Oh well. Maybe he can just show Armin, if he finds another one. He takes a deep breath and holds it, nodding to Armin before he dips back under. Armin follows him and he tries to locate the starfish he found earlier.

"So you're looking for something?" Armin guesses correctly as he watches him inspect the sandy bottom.

He nods and continues, but before long he needs to go up for air. Again. Frustration thrumming through him, Nathaniel peals back to the surface yet again and sputters for oxygen.

He has never missed his gills more than he does now.

Armin catches up to him, head cocked uncertainly. "Uh...You okay?"

Nathaniel nods, swats the water in vexation.

"Wanna try to show me what you're looking for again? I mean, I could go get it for you."

Nathaniel flutters, a bit surprised. He offers Armin a small smile of appreciation and demonstrates once more.

"Uh...Hm...Tentacles?"

Nathaniel shakes his head.

"Okay...Well you're not looking in the right place for an anemone, so..." He squints uncertainly.

Nathaniel changes tactics. He points up to the sun, which is a star, and then resumes the gesture.

"You want a sunfish?"

No! This isn't even the right place for that either!

"No, um...Thick seaweed?"

Nathaniel flails and then tries to draw the outline of a starfish in the air.

Armin only looks more confused. He blows out a sigh and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not getting it and I can't stay here all day. It's great to see you and all, and I wanna help but I gotta get back to Alexy. He's sick, so I just came out here to get him a starfish."

Nathaniel claps his hands together and nods zealously.

"Oh! You want a starfish too, huh?"

He nods again, exhales softly.

"Sure thing." Armin nods and dives under.

He emerges not ten minutes later with a couple of good sized starfish and gives one to Nathaniel. Nathaniel beams and squeezes his shoulder gratefully.

"No problem." Armin swims back. "So...Maybe I'll see you again?"

Probably not. Nathaniel nods anyway.

"Cool." Armin smiles, lifts his free hand in a wave. "Later then."

Nathaniel waves back and watches him disappear beneath the waves. He swims back to shore, the starfish clinging to his arm with its unusual appendages. He returns to the palace and manages to make his way to Lysander's quarters without getting yelled at by anyone for tracking water in. He waits for the shushing sound of Lysander blowing his nose on the other side of the door to conclude before he knocks.

"Come in."

Nathaniel does so and peels the starfish off his arm, presenting it to Lysander with a sheepish smile.

Lysander's mouth falls open and he stares at it for a very long moment, his head slowly tilting to the side. "Ah...Is that for me?"

Nathaniel nods.

Lysander tentatively takes the sea star. "Thank you? I'm sorry, Nix, I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do with this creature..."

Oh. Nathaniel should have figured as much, with Lysander being human. It's of a good size so there will be plenty left over if he only takes a bite to demonstrate. Nathaniel leans over and raises one of its arms, chomping the end off and chewing it over. It isn't foul tasting, though its consistency is queer and unappealing. It's healthy and that's the important thing. He swallows.

Lysander's brows jump to his hairline. "Oh my..."

Nathaniel gives him an impelling look.

Lysander pauses to cough and then smiles at him apologetically. "This is very thoughtful of you. I'm warmed, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

Nathaniel purses his lips and crosses his arms over his chest to express argument.

"Forgive me, I just don't have the palate. I wholeheartedly appreciate your concern."

Though tempted to try to convince him, Nathaniel isn't going to push. He takes back the starfish and not particularly inclined to eat it himself, simply returns it to the ocean. All the walking is taking it's toll and since Lysander isn't there to see, he lets himself limp along the support of the wall until he inevitably ends up back outside his room. He hesitates before entering.

He feels a bit bad about not being able to do anything to help. The starfish was the only thing he could think of. He'll just have to ask Lysander if there's anything he can do. He opens the door and shuffles in with the intent to do just that.

He's a little late. Lysander is asleep, hair splayed over the pillow, mouth open and some drool dribbling out. His nose is leaking too and without much thought, Nathaniel takes the satin handkerchief from the nightstand and wipes it with a featherlight brush. With that, he settles himself on the floor and rests his head on the edge of the mattress.

He watches the steady rise and fall of Lysander's chest and listens to his breath, finding it soothing and hoping he has good dreams.

Walking is suffering.

Stairs are excruciating.

Running is torment.

It can't possibly get worse than running. It's funny because even if Nathaniel thinks that, he initially thought walking was as bad as it could get, then decided stairs were, and then running when they were finally introduced.

He's only able to judge how harsh pain can be based on how much he encounters and having learned this through experience, one would think he'd arrive at the conclusion that he cannot definitively predict the level at which pain peaks beyond a point where it simply couldn't get any worse. However, he doesn't and he is wrong.

Dancing blows running out of the water.

"This is necessary for you to learn because there's going to be a lot of it," Lysander says, reeling him in for the third time and drawing him back into their practice dance. "Weddings are some of the most extravagant celebrations there are. You're going to have to be dressed with class and I know you're not going to like it, but you are absolutely forbidden to take your clothes off. Understand?"

Nathaniel can barely discern the words over the trident stabs and urchin spines warring through him with every step. Somehow he makes sense of them and nods.

"Good." Lysander laces their fingers again and swiftly sweeps him across the floor. "You also have to greet everyone respectfully and mind their personal space. I don't doubt you will, but this is important so I have to make sure you remember. You will, yes?"

Honestly, Nathaniel can't even appreciate their closeness like this. All he can think about is how badly he yearns to saw his legs off.

"Nix?"

Nathaniel nods, not exactly sure what he's agreeing to but agreeing nonetheless.

"I trust you. Though you know you don't have to come if you don't want to, right? You could always stay in your room."

Nathaniel shakes his head, fakes a bright smile. Whether or not attending Leigh and Rosalya's wedding is actually something he wants to do is the furthest thing from his mind right now.

"I'm glad." Lysander sighs and dips him back, a wistful smile molding his lips. "I think it'll be easier if you're with me."

Nathaniel feels the tug of fondness through the tide of nerves ripped raw and squeezes Lysander's hand.

Lysander hums and rights him back up again, towing him in for a heartbeat and swinging him out in a flourish.

Nathaniel resists the urge to collapse and follows him into the next move, focusing on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Step. In. Step. Out. Shuffle. In. Out. In. Out. Sway. In. Spin. Out. In. Close gap. In. Out. In.

Don't fall.

"You have a graceful step," Lysander comments. "Very fluid. I almost think you should be leading. Have you had lessons before?"

Nathaniel shakes his head.

"It must be a natural talent then." Lysander smiles as they swivel and sets his hand on his waist. "Those are rare. You should be proud."

Nathaniel uses the praise as balm and chokes back a whimper. Unfortunately the next terpsichorean sequence wrings it out of him. It's entirely unintentional and though it's a raspy, imitation of a sound rather than a sound itself given his vocal circumstances, it's still more than vociferous enough to be heard. Lysander stops immediately, alarm flashing in his eyes.

"What is it? Did you twist something?"

Nathaniel tries to wave him off, gives him an embarrassed smile.

"It's not your back, is it?" Lysander reaches out and Nathaniel steps back, shaking his head more vehemently and giving another wave.

It's fine. He's fine.

Lysander frowns. "Nix. You're never that loud, I know you're in pain. Where does it hurt?"

Nathaniel shuffles back and takes a pen, scrawls on the piece of paper on the table and hands it to Lysander.

'Fine. May have stepped on something, but I'm fine.'

Lysander doesn't believe him. Not at all, Nathaniel can see it in his face. He doesn't call him out on it though. "Let's take a break, okay? You don't really need practice anyway. You're already a remarkable dancer."

Nathaniel blushes and self-consciously rubs the nape of his neck, nodding.

Lysander touches his face. He looks up, surprised, and Lysander makes a critical noise, brushing his thumb under his eye.

"You're really sweating. I didn't notice earlier...Here." He takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes Nathaniel's forehead and cheeks. "Now I'm not going to strap you to a table and demand you answer me. I respect your privacy. I just want you to know that you can come to me if something is wrong, alright?"

Nathaniel bows his head into his hand and nuzzles affectionately.

"Alright. Would you like to go see the cats?"

He nods and so they do.

Human weddings are even more ridiculous than merfolk ones.

Fancy people from just about everywhere fill the ballroom from wall to wall, all dressed in similarly stiff and uncomfortable garments of layers just as he is. He has no idea how Lysander wears a cravat everyday, he swears his is trying to strangle him. At any rate, the various people are the most interesting thing about the whole event.

There's this long, long ceremony where this man wearing this tall hat drawls on between the couple about vows and union. It's not that Nathaniel isn't fascinated by human culture and customs (albeit most of which he has observed so far to be ridiculous), he is and always has been, but standing through the whole thing is painful. Especially since he was trying to rest his legs for the dancing afterward. He's also worried about Lysander. It can't exactly be easy for him, having to stand here and celebrate their love.

The whole thing is also a reminder that his own clock is ticking. He needs to be standing there, listening to that guy drawl on for him and exchanging rings with Lysander. Summer is dwindling away by the day and his days are dwindling with it.

The man finally stops drawling when it's time for Leigh and Rosalya to kiss. They acquaint their mouths slowly, sweetly, and the whole room erupts in ear-splitting applause. Nathaniel claps politely and glances to Lysander out of the corner of his eye, rather amazed to see he's probably cheering louder than anyone else here.

There's a massive feast afterward, which is equally loud. Nathaniel is very careful to use the right silverware for the right dishes and take dainty sips from his champagne glass as opposed to guzzling it.

A lot of people ask who he is and it's almost as embarrassing not be able to answer for himself as it is annoying. Luckily Lysander is always quick to pacify them before they can get bother him about not answering or nitpick about details.

This one girl in particular is rubbing him the wrong way. She's some princess from some other kingdom, a teeny thing by the name of Nina and she's sitting on Lysander's other side. She seems to really like touching his arm and giggling in her cutesy, high-pitched voice. Lysander humors her, which is even more grating.

It's not like Nathaniel wants to be overly possessive or make issue out of something small, but his life literally depends on marrying Lysander. He's already having a hell of a hard enough time of that without competition.

When it is time to dance, Nathaniel snags Lysander before she can because he knows she wants to. He steals him away and takes him to the floor, and Lysander gives him a light, bemused smile.

(This should be his first clue. Somehow he misses it.)

"Well the other day was just practice...But I suppose we can. It's hard for me to resist when I know how good you are." Lysander gives him mullein-soft eyes. "Let's just go to the balcony, alright?"

Nathaniel nods and follows him out. The moonlight washes them in glowing silver as they affix and Nathaniel actually prefers having this to themselves. The music drifts through the window and it doesn't do much to soften the broken jars and stingray stings only he feels from the pads of his feet to the marrow in his hips, but it is nice.

Nicer still is this proximity, the star shine in Lysander's grin and finesse in his movements, the heat of his fingers between Nathaniel's and the effervescence in his aura.

Nathaniel soaks it in and swallows his pain, using it as fuel for courage. He draws Lysander in at the coda of their dance and kisses him tenderly on the mouth.

Lysander gasps. He grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him back. He looks startled.

"You— We —can't do that," he tells Nathaniel severely. "Men can't kiss other men that way. It isn't proper, it isn't even legal. Men are supposed to kiss women and vice-versa." He glances around and then gives Nathaniel a tight grimace. "I know you don't know any better but if someone saw us, it could've been very bad."

What.

Shock numbs Nathaniel. All he can process is thoughtless, animalistic dread.

The giddy newlyweds themselves interrupt before Lysander can probe him for acknowledgement. What they say, Nathaniel doesn't know. He doesn't even register that he's walking past them, or out of the ballroom, or down the hallway until his legs give out. He doesn't get up again.

They ache so, so, so bad and there's no point anymore. There wasn't a point to begin with and they're even less than useless to him. He crawls back to his room, climbs into his bed, and buries his face under the gravestone that is his pillow.

Nathaniel doesn't bother getting up the next day.

He's done. This entire endeavor was fruitless, a fucking fool's dream and he should have seen it sooner. He trusted in a witch and traded his voice for a death wish on a whim and he can't believe he was so utterly, inconceivably, fucking stupid.

Three hundred years. Three hundred years is the average lifespan of a merperson. He hasn't even hit two decades and he could've lived three centuries and what did he throw it all away for?

To be in pain all the time and plod after a man who couldn't have saved him from becoming sea foam even if he wanted to.

Did Debrah know humans were like that? Even if she did, it doesn't matter. He shouldn't have pursued this, he shouldn't have gone to her. Merfolk are typically expected to take partners of all sexes throughout their lives, but he'd been an idiot to presume humans were the same way when everything else they did was different; alien, asinine.

He's such an imbecile. Why didn't he think this through!? Why didn't he just stop and take five minutes to ponder all the possible consequences of changing species and mooning over a prince he didn't even know the name of!? Everything'd he done was a formula for disaster!

"Nix?" The door creaks open and there's Lysander, peering at him worriedly and dithering over the threshold. "You weren't at breakfast."

Nathaniel doesn't bother responding.

"Are you okay?" He takes it upon himself to enter.

Nathaniel closes his eyes just so he doesn't have to look at his face.

It isn't Lysander's fault but a part of him blames him anyway. He knows he's being unfair, Lysander is completely oblivious to everything. But he's still the central part of the reason Nathaniel is going to die and that doesn't make for a lot of fuzzy, fluffy feelings.

"Are you sick?" Cool fingers press a cursory touch to his forehead. "You don't have a fever..."

Nathaniel rolls over to face the opposite wall, which is as much as he's willing to communicate. It isn't hard to understand. Lysander backs off. He doesn't say another word and excuses himself from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Nathaniel misses his touch already and wishes he could just scrub it off his skin, wishes he was never ludicrous enough to covet it in the first place.

Lysander is his demise, this beautiful enigma and he's not sure whether he truly loves him, or whether he's just attached himself to the notion of loving him because he's the human that was always there for Nathaniel to watch, this two-legged mystery shrouded in a world he could only glimpse. A human who sparked him into this crazy mess and gave him a bed. An unusual man who isn't half bad to be around and has an abundance of patience that has made learning about his strange world that much easier.

In the end, Nathaniel supposes it doesn't matter whether he loves him or not. Whatever feelings he has for him, however deep they are or however confusing they are have no effect on anything whatsoever. He can't marry him. He's going to die.

Lysander gives Nathaniel his space. He doesn't come back to see him that day or the day after. He only has Iris bring him water he won't drink and soup he won't eat. Then he sends the doctor, but Nathaniel makes it very clear he does not want to be touched.

When he tries to examine him anyway Nathaniel snaps at him and his fingers barely make it out unscathed. Faraize is a timid guy anyway, spooks more easily than a mouse, and that's all it takes to scare him off.

Nathaniel knows he's being sullen but he doesn't particularly care. It doesn't matter anymore. Summer is coming to a close soon and he'll be dead long before frost kisses the grass. He's tired.

He tried. He tried really, really hard and it didn't work out and at the end of the day that is extremely depressing. He doesn't have any will left to run on. At least when he lies here his legs don't hurt.

Lysander does come back on the third day, a little after noon.

"I don't want to upset you," he greets. He looks pale. "I know...Well, I think you want space. I understand that and you can have it. You don't have to talk to me and I'll leave you alone. But you do have to eat something. Or at least drink some water."

Nathaniel blinks at him dully. He doesn't see why. Sea form doesn't need to eat or drink.

"Please," Lysander begs, voice wavering. "You're scaring me."

He's scared? Ha.

Lysander chews the inside of his cheeks ad hesitantly takes a step closer. "This doesn't have anything to do with what happened on the balcony, does it?"

Nathaniel just pulls the duvet over his head and hopes he leaves.

Lysander does leave a few minutes later, the door clicking shut behind the echo of the footsteps.

Nathaniel clutches the sheets, fingers clenching. He still isn't sure whether or not he loves him but it does pain him to see him upset. Maybe he should leave so he doesn't have to. Maybe he shouldn't wait for summer to end, maybe he should just go drown himself in the ocean because he's going to die anyway and at least that way it would be on his own terms.

At least that way it wouldn't be the way the witch set him up to go, he could weasel out of it just to spite her.

Maybe he would too, if he had the motivation to be bitter. As it stands he doesn't feel anything much beyond this shadow of despair, this diluted despondency. He doesn't feel his own sorrow so much as he observes its presence in the hollowness that yawns from his chest to his gut.

He was heartbroken. Savagely, acutely heartbroken with regret souring his insides as his dreams quietly buried themselves in the pockets of his poor decisions' repercussions.

Now he doesn't feel so heartbroken. He isn't apathetic, he's just...Resigned. Resigned to this bleak outcome waiting for him on autumn's dawn. He doesn't want it to happen but he can't do anything about it and he knows that.

He hopes it doesn't hurt.

But it can't be worse than dancing, right?

Just thinking about dancing makes his legs twinge. He rolls over again and tries to sleep just because he doesn't have anything else to do with himself.

He's almost there too, in this drowsy state in between wakefulness and dreamlessness before the creaking of the door yanks him out of it.

"Here," Lysander says, a quiet splash punctuating him. "You like these, don't you?"

It's the splash that gets Nathaniel curious enough to poke his head out.

Lysander stands with his arms stretched toward him, gaze liquid with desperation and a starfish resting in each hand.

Nathaniel blinks once, twice. He sits up and studies them.

"You brought me that big one when I wasn't feeling well," Lysander goes on. "I couldn't get you one of those, but these small ones were in the tide pools."

They're five-rayed sea stars, each a little less than half the size of the one he brought Lysander.

"You like them, right?" Lysander's voice cracks and Nathaniel notices that his arms are trembling, only just perceptibly. It seems he's having difficulty maintaining composure.

Guilt jabs his heart. He looks up at Lysander's face, the tense twist of his lips and the hairs out of place. He glances back to the starfish in his hands, wet sand stuck under his fingernails.

Slowly he reaches out and takes one. He sighs and bites off an arm, chewing quietly. He doesn't taste it really, isn't sure what he feels.

"Thank you," Lysander breathes in relief.

Nathaniel swallows and nods, biting into another arm.

This is okay, he supposes. Actually it's probably better than okay. Since there's nothing he can do about dying, why not spend the time he has left acting like he's not? He might as well go about his days like he's been, learning more things from Lysander and enjoying his company. Even if it won't amount to anything in the end, it might be pleasant. It might make Lysander happy.

Even if Nathaniel doesn't love him, he does prefer to see him happy. And even if he still blames him in a way, he knows he cares and that makes it harder to.

He finishes off the starfish and licks the salt water from his fingers.

"Would you like the other one?" Lysander asks.

Having not eaten anything in days, the one he's just devoured isn't sitting too easily. Even so, Lysander's already brought it to him and he doesn't feel outright nauseous. He nods and eats the second one, letting Lysander coax some water into him when he's done.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" he asks as he sets the glass back on the nightstand.

Nathaniel shakes his head.

"Okay." Lysander nods solemnly. "I'll leave you be."

He dips his head and turns around. Nathaniel grabs his sleeve and tugs, meaning implicit. Lysander glances back to him and catches his eye to make sure. He then nods and sits on the edge of the bed. Nathaniel thanks him with his gesture and warms when it's returned with a smile.

He isn't sea foam yet after all.

"I should apologize to you," Lysander says out of nowhere when the sun bleeds and the shore is theirs.

Nathaniel gives him a puzzled look.

"When I first found you, I did sincerely want to make sure you were okay." Lysander sighs and takes his shoes off, bends to roll up his pants as customary. "I was glad you were...But I was also troubled. I kind of used you. Bringing you home in the first place really got under Leigh's skin and then after that...Well, you were so new to everything and teaching you always took up a lot of time. It was easier not to think about everything else when I was with you."

He straightens up and faces Nathaniel, quietly abashed. "You were a distraction for me and even if that didn't hurt you, it certainly wasn't fair. You're my friend."

Nathaniel understands what he's saying and appreciates it, but this doesn't exactly come as a surprise to him. It was a mutually beneficial relationship no matter what prompted it, Lysander provided him with shelter and food. Not to mention, he was also using Lysander.

Even though it didn't work out, it doesn't change the fact that he did.

He flutters his hand and pats Lysander on the back, smiling genially to show he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all.

Lysander looks a bit taken aback. "You aren't bothered by that?"

Nathaniel shakes his head, moves his hands up palms skyward. It's nothing, he doesn't need to feel bad.

"Ahh...Perhaps I shouldn't have even mentioned it then." Lysander shifts his gaze in embarrassment, shrugs his shoulders and steps into the shallows. He lets out a sigh of contentment and Nathaniel strips his own clothes off, charging into deeper waters.

"I'm not sure you should keep doing that," Lysander calls after him. "It's starting to get colder. You know today's officially the last day of summer, right?"

Yeah, he knows. He signals as much and waves off his worries, submerging himself. He swims for awhile and remerges feeling refreshed. He doesn't head back to shore though, he takes in a breath and dives back under.

It'll be his last time swimming after all, so he wants to savor it as long as he can.

When he resurfaces again he looks back to the beach. Lysander's eyes are closed, wavy forelock blowing in the sea breeze as the sun's decline dyes him in orange. He looks blissful, beautiful. Nathaniel has never asked why he wades at sunset. He doesn't want to. He's just happy Lysander brings him along.

He'd always enjoyed watching him but being beside him is, well, all things considered, something wonderful. He irresistibly glances to the rock he used to watch him from and is absolutely flabbergasted to see someone there.

Wait, two someones!?

Nathaniel swims closer and squints. Amber is there, partly eclipsed by the rock and flanked by Debrah's lover.

What the hell?

When she sees that he sees her she beckons to him, flapping her wrist impatiently.

He can't. Not right now, not with Lysander here. He'd never been seen when it was just him, silently watching from afar, but if he were to swim over there it would draw attention to the spot. And three merpeople— well, two and a human-soon-to-be-sea-foam is more conspicuous than one.

He holds up his hand in a gesture for her to wait and then dives back under the water. He swims back to the sand, questions spinning through his mind. What is she doing here? Did she just come to say goodbye? She'd known he went to Debrah (was likely the one who told Armin and probably half the sea, the little gossip she was), but he doesn't know how she'd figure out he was dying, unless of course she talked to the witch herself. Or that lover of hers and speaking of whom, what is she doing with Amber?

Stumped, Nathaniel comes up for air and makes his way back to Lysander.

"Did you follow a fish or something? You went a little further out today."

Nathaniel lifts his head, blinks and gives a nod.

"Is everything alright?

Nathaniel writes in the shoreline with his finger. 'Tired.'

"Do you want to go in early?"

Nathaniel shakes his head and just lies on his back. He curls his toes in the sand and watches as the sky gradient slowly grows darker.

When Lysander finally puts his shoes back on, Nathaniel lets him know he's going to stay out a bit longer and waits until he's disappeared from view before he returns to the sea. He swims as fast as he can to his rock and they're still waiting there. His sister's hair, previously trailing almost to her aquamarine caudal fin, now only just reaches past her ears. She holds a golden dagger to her chest with an irritable expression and the witch's lover holds a small black bottle.

"You're an idiot," she snaps in greeting. "You're an idiot but I can't just let you die, so here!" She thrusts the dagger out to him. "I traded Debrah my hair for this. It's magic. If you stab the prince with it and get his blood on your legs, you'll get your tail back and you can come home."

Nathaniel gasps, ice spiking through his veins.

"You have to do it before sunrise through," Marcese pipes in and then extends her own token, the black bottle. "And if you drink that, you'll get your voice back. But this one's a secret, okay? I kind of stole it...I love Deb to death, but she can be really harsh sometimes."

"Hurry up," Amber spurs him. "You've only got like twelve hours!"

Nathaniel doesn't exactly feel himself reaching for the bottle. His head is a hurricane of shock and heavy decisions. He sees his fingers close around it and then drinks the contents down. He feels a flare of warmth akin to the one when he gave up his voice and then it morphs into a crackling burn. He coughs and it's a harsh, clear sound, not like the raspy noises and faint squeaks he's been limited to.

"Thank you," he says uncertainly and he recognizes his own voice in the way one spots an old friend after too much time flies by. He gives the empty bottle back to the witch's lover and takes the dagger from Amber, inhaling a breath that stabs as sharp.

"I know you like him," Amber says and her voice is small, frightened. "But it's either you or him. And it has to be you, so promise me you'll kill him. Promise me you'll come back."

He swallows and his throat feels barbed.

"Nathaniel, please!" She grabs him by the shoulders and squeezes, her nails pinching his skin as her desperate, fraught eyes pin him to the spot.

"I'll kill him," he promises and he's sick to his stomach even as instinctual self-preservation goads him on in her fractured voice.

Lysander stays up late. He writes at night and sometimes he lets Nathaniel sit nearby and listen to the scratch of pen or quill on paper as the aroma of ink tickles his nose, and sometimes he doesn't because he needs space and solitary air to find his words. If he doesn't write he still stays up late, he stands on the balcony and maps the stars.

Nathaniel waits. He chokes his vomit back and quietly pads down the hall, keeping tabs on the pale yellow light that outlines Lysander's closed door, peeking through the cracks. Most of the night has crawled by and withered before it gets blown out.

The dagger feels like a disease in his hand, this filthy, ominous thing. His sweat drops are thorns and his tongue is cotton. His heart must be empty because he's going to do it anyway.

He'd accepted his fate when there wasn't anything he could do about it, but Amber exchanged her hair for this twisted way out. Her anguished face is emblazoned on the back of his eyelids even when he closes his eyes and vainly tries to wish this away. He doesn't want to kill Lysander.

Ice sinks claws into his stomach just at the thought, but as Amber said, it's either Lysander or him...

Nathaniel bites his lip until it bleeds and tries to find some resolve in its metallic tang. He doesn't, but he slips into Lysander's room anyway, light on his feet with the stealth of a shadow.

He doesn't know how he manages to be so silent when the pound of his heartbeat is stentorian in ears, tangible in his throat.

If he's quick and precise, Lysander won't feel a thing. The prince is fast asleep, features serene with dreams and hair fallen back from his face.

Nathaniel slinks up close and raises the dagger above his chest, pointing its keen tip toward his heart.

He has to do it. He has to, he's going to die if he doesn't and as long as he plunges it right in, Lysander won't suffer at all.

He raises it a little higher, pulse racing.

His hands tremble, perspiration slipping through his fingers like icy snakes.

He tries to steady them because if they aren't steady he'll make a mistake and if he makes a mistake he'll have to stab him more than once and— He can't stab him at all.

He can't, he won't, he lets go of his bated breath and lets the dagger fall from his grasp. It clangs loudly on the floor and that wakes Lysander up. He snaps to a sit in his bed, confusion fixating his face and when he sees the dagger there, glittering in the moonlight, a gasp leaps from his lungs. He seizes it and points it at Nathaniel, eyes steeling in spite of his panic.

"You don't have to get defensive," Nathaniel assures him softly, taking a few steps back. "I can't kill you...I love you."

Lysander's eyes widen. The dagger lowers.

"You just spoke..."

"Yeah..." Nathaniel runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't have anything to lose, so he tells Lysander everything. Everything even before the deal with the witch that led up to this, he tells him about the very first time he saw him on his fifteenth birthday when he was finally permitted to go up to the surface. He owes Lysander an explanation for coming into his room in the middle of the night with the shaky intent to murder him and the truth is all he has.

He hasn't had a voice in so long that now the words just won't stop falling out. Lysander doesn't cut him off. He listens to the whole story, pensive.

He probably thinks Nathaniel is crazy. He's probably going to kick him out of the palace for being insane, or tell Leigh and Leigh will have him executed for posing a threat. Nathaniel won't blame him one little bit.

But when he finishes telling him everything, Lysander doesn't call him crazy.

He only asks a question, the very last question that Nathaniel is expecting to hear.

"Do they still hurt?"

"Huh?" Nathaniel blinks, nonplussed.

"Your legs."

"You believe me?"

"Of course I do."

Nathaniel smiles tiredly. "They still hurt. I guess one good thing about turning into sea foam is that they won't anymore."

Lysander lowers his head and sheathes the dagger in his sleeve.

"Do you want to go to the beach one more time?" he asks when he looks up again, gaze soft albeit saddened.

"Alright," Nathaniel agrees. "That sounds nice."

He waits for Lysander to get up and then starts for the door, but Lysander takes his arm.

"You don't have to walk. I can carry you."

Nathaniel opens his mouth to protest and Lysander holds his hand up to cut him off.

"I'm strong enough to. I already have, though being that you were unconscious both times I don't expect you to remember. Although you could make it a bit easier for me this time. Climb on my back, okay?"

Nathaniel pauses. He's a little surprised, a little embarrassed. But Lysander has a convincing smile and he's going to be gone in a few hours, so he might as well. He nods and climbs onto his back accordingly, securing his arms around Lysander's neck and breathing in the scent of sleep in his hair. Lysander holds his legs and simply starts walking and Nathaniel can't help fretting that he's going to trip like this, especially in the dark, but he doesn't voice his fears.

He relaxes against him and beams in his body heat.

"I like your voice," Lysander tells him, breaking the hush in the hallway. "I'm glad I got to hear it."

"I'm glad I get a chance to tell you that yours is perfect," Nathaniel replies.

Lysander breathes a laugh. "You flatter me."

Nathaniel smiles fondly. It seems Lysander has forgiven him for trying to kill him with ease and maybe that's what pushes the question he'd be much too shy to ask if he weren't going to be dead soon past his lips.

"Lysander. Do you love me?"

There's a moment's pause. "Yes," he murmurs. "I do. Not the way you love me, I don't believe, but I do."

"It's probably better that way. You couldn't save me even if you did." Nathaniel hums lightly. "But I liked being your Nix while I could. I don't regret it."

"I'm glad."

The rest of the walk is quiet. The sand on the beach is blue-black in the night and Lysander sets him down gingerly. They sit close and watch the shine of the moon and stars sparkle off the surface of the dark waves.

"Nathaniel?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you in love with me, anyway?" Lysander curls his fingers in the sand. "If you don't mind my asking."

Nathaniel snorts. It's such an abstract question, hell if he knows why. "Well, why are you in love with Rosalya?"

"I...Well, I'm trying not to be." Lysander tips his head back. "And you shouldn't answer a question with another question."

"I'm dying, I can do what I like." Nathaniel gently nudges his shoulder.

"What would you like?" Lysander asks and it almost sounds like an apology.

"To wade with you," he decides.

Lysander helps him to his feet and they walk through the shallows together. It's shockingly cold but they don't care and they talk for hours. Lysander shows him more constellations and divulges their origins, admitting that he'd alter some of them just so some can twinkle with optimism. Nathaniel tells him honestly that he likes his versions better.

He tells Lysander about the ocean. About coral reefs and the the variety of aquatic life that thrives in them. About narwhals with their horns mistaken for human's fantastical unicorns and that no, to his knowledge, there is no Atlantis, he has no idea who came up with that. They talk until the sky grows noticeably lighter and even though they've never had to talk before, it is a conversation to be cherished.

"The sun will be up soon," Lysander notes needlessly.

Nathaniel nods. "Yeah...It...It's okay. If you want to go back inside now, that's okay too. I understand."

Lysander shakes his head. "You saved my life. Twice, in fact. So now..." He trails off and Nathaniel recalls approximately five seconds too late that he'd kept the dagger.

He slides it out and stabs himself in the chest without pause, a rapid, fluid motion.

"Lysander, no! Lysander, no, no, no!" Nathaniel dives to catch him as he topples backward, blood gushing from his wound. Nathaniel desperately tries to staunch it with his hands and Lysander stabs himself a second time, wrenching the blade and ripping it wider. He coughs and a thick glob of it splatters Nathaniel right in the face.

"Let me save you," he insists feebly, the words butchered by the blood just pouring down his mouth in a crimson waterfall.

Nathaniel whips his head from side to side, fanning his fingers and pressing his hands uselessly against the ragged, gaping, perforation that similarly jets blood in a seemingly endless supply. It spills into the water and soaks through Nathaniel's pants.

He absently feels tingling and then the fabric rips as his legs fuse together, feet stretching into a fin and sunset colored scales forming over flesh. Lysander shifts his head a bit to take a look and coughs again, a thick, wet sound that sends a shudder through his entire body. What's left of his chest heaves erratically under Nathaniel's palms.

"Your tail is amazing," he praises warmly.

His chest stops moving after that. Nathaniel goes rigid. He lets out a little cry and inclines his head, resting it against the split meat and searching for that steady, rhythmic thumping that let him know Lysander hadn't drowned.

It is, predictably, not there.

He silently curls around him and holds him while he grows cold.

"Look who's not sea foam," Debrah announces upon Nathaniel's arrival. Her previous lover's skull has been added to her collection of them. The replacement is a male with spiky black fins, his head resting upon her middle.

Nathaniel swims up to her and bows his head. "Bring him back. I'll give you anything, I don't even have to see him, just...Bring him back."

"No can do, Natty-boo." Debrah dismissively waves a tentacle. "First off, I actually can't. You don't have the body. I need the body for that. Second of all, I just don't like bringing the dead back. It's creepy, they never come back right. If I were gonna do it for you at all, you'd have to have something I really wanted. And you don't."

"Then what do I do now?" He asks and he's not really asking her. He's not asking anyone.

"Carry on anyway," she answers all the same. "Now get out of my sight before I take your voice back. We still made a deal, so it's technically still mine. You're lucky I'm too lazy to get up."

Nathaniel turns and leaves the cave, directionless.

When sunset comes, he returns to his rock and watches the vacant beach.

Nathaniel jolts awake with a start, disrupting White from her comfortable position on his stomach. She leaps from the couch with a disgruntled mew and he gasps for breath, the lightweight throw clinging to his sweaty legs.

"Nathaniel?" Lysander glances to him, raising a brow under the glow of the television.

Nathaniel doesn't answer him, only stares at him and rakes a hand through his damp hair as he gets his breath back.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Lysander asks, lips lining in a frown of concern.

Hell yes he did. The bits and pieces of it are starting to dim from his mind, losing their clarity, but he still remembers it was horrible. How embarrassing, having a nightmare at his age.

No, that goes beyond embarrassing. That's humiliating.

"No," he answers. "Just...Just a weird dream, I guess."

"I told you that spaghetti sauce looked suspicious," Lysander says, reaching over and feeling his forehead. He touches his cheek and then gives a soft hum, pulling back.

"It did taste kinda weird," Nathaniel admits. He glances back to the television. "What are you watching?"

"One of those mermaid mockumentaries on the animal channel. I know they're ridiculous, but they're kind of entertaining."

Nathaniel groans and flops back down. "Can you change the channel please?"

Is every stupidly long, narm filled, wangsty AU I do with these two gonna turn into a copout? What the fuck e_e

And why is it so long? Ugh, this is a mess. It's probably filled with a mountain of typos. If I had any self-respect, I wouldn't post such humiliating pieces of absurd shit. Bleh. I gotta get back to other things. Sorry about this. I don't even...Beh.